


Fools Rush In

by LoveSupreme



Series: Cafe Haifisch [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amateur-Stalking, M/M, Mild Drama, Mostly-Lighthearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 84,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveSupreme/pseuds/LoveSupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Erik yawned and rubbed his eyes as he fit the key into the lock of the back door, dragging his feet to his little office and dropping his briefcase on his desk before going to the safe and checking through the starting bag from yesterday, organizing the deposit bag to bring it to the bank later. 5 might be his normal time to come in, but damn it, it was fucking early. It was amazing that even after so many years at this early bird business he had yet to actually become an early bird. It made him wonder why he didn't just listen to Emma already and have Azazel or Janos open the place up in the mornings. Why have managers if he couldn’t shove all the work he didn’t want to do onto them?

He checked the schedule to see who he was working with today: Hank. Excellent. He hated talking in the morning (or any other time of the day), and Hank was so intimidated by him that he could barely get his voice box to work in his presence, so it would be a nice quiet Monday. If only everyone else would take a page from the dork's book and clam up when he was around.

"You hate people," Emma had told him when he had first decided to start this business, nearly seven years ago. "Why on earth would you set up a place for people to come to? I don't think you understand what a cafe is."

"It's a place to drink coffee," Erik had answered, rolling his eyes as he studied the paperwork on the building he had just laid down his life-savings for.

"It's a place for _people_ to drink coffee. Don't you think you'd be happier as...I don't know...like one of those bookkeepers that lives in the basement and only interacts with people via email?”

Emma was overreacting: Erik didn't hate people. Well, okay, he did. But he wanted to hate them where they could see him, not hate them like a slug in the dirt-hidden away and ignorable.

"I don't have to hang out with anyone: I have people for that. Or, I _will_ have people for that," he had replied, and gone ahead and done what he wanted anyway.

"What does Magda think of all this?" Emma had drawled, but it took Erik another week to tell her that he and Magda had split up. He didn't want to talk about that.

Back in the present, Erik heard the bell of the back door go off and eyed the hallway keenly to see whoever it was when they came around the corner.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Lensherr," Hank squeaked, eyes lost behind the glare of his glasses under the fluorescents.

"Hello, Hank. Here's the starting bag. Go set up the till," Erik said, tossing him the bag. Hank flinched and missed, then blushed hard before picking it back up and going to the front of the house, flicking on lights, turning on the point of sale machine.

When Erik finished up at the back he started his coffee ritual: lovingly starting the drip coffee to roast, refilling the espresso machine, organizing the wares, spot-cleaning where he thought it necessary.

At his cafe the espresso machine was treated as befit a god: carefully cleaned every single day, no matter what. The last person who had forgotten to retool the steaming wand at the end of the day had been forced to go through the whole machine with nothing but toothbrushes and Q-Tips. That had been two years ago, and Erik had never had to repeat the lesson.

Erik and Hank went around the cafe, taking down mismatched chairs, pulling back the curtains from the wall-to-wall windows. Erik was very happy with his cafe, even seven years after opening. Right on the corner, just two blocks from the university, busy, but busy with respectable, quiet people. The first year had been the hardest, not for business, business was booming (you couldn't expect less on the edge of a campus with only shitty mainstream cafes on hand, the two Starbucks on the street both only offering about twenty chairs between them. Erik offered plenty of space, plenty of power outlets, and plenty of coffee, and only needed to open his pocket when the money came pouring in. No, business hadn't been the problem at the start. Getting the right customers, now that had been the problem.

Most kids on campus had thought that the new cafe down the street was going to be a great extension to their dorm-rooms: hang out there till midnight, tell loud stories, cackle endlessly as you come down from whatever high you’re on.

Erik had had to put a stop to that immediately.

Nowadays kids understood that Cafe Haifisch was not for the flippant aficionado. If you wanted a topup on your way to class? Come on in. Had an essay to write? Perfect, enjoy your caffeine. Wanted to study quietly with friends? No place finer. Wanted to burst in in drunken glory on your way back from hitting up every single party on Greek Row? I hope you're sober enough to duck some blows, because Erik Lensherr just plain isn't going to tolerate any shit in his establishment.

He was actually well-known on campus for his menacing nature: ever since he had opened his doors and started busting loud frat-boy heads they had named him The Shark--it was the main reason he had changed the name of the cafe. Although he couldn't get rid of his German roots quite enough to call his sole business something so English. Shark Cafe also sounded like a beach moniker, so he preferred his German spin anyway.

Erik was happy, thinking of how far his establishment had come in the last few years, and whistled as he worked, which had the added pleasure of setting Hank completely on edge. Erik knew that the kid was hard-up for cash, had to be, a Senior with a full coarse load, internship on the side, a Biology major for Chrissake, working during any free time he might have had; but the kid must have been especially desperate, to work with a man who apparently terrified him daily. Thank goodness the kid was good with coffee, and numbers, or his constant flinching would have forced Erik to fire him already, and tough as he was, he really hated firing people.

It was just that the kids were such good kids, hardly aggravated him at all, the way most of humanity did. Sean and Alex were idiots, especially together, but they were good idiots: funny and hard-working. Angel was a step up: smart and tough as nails, was rude to customers and God did Erik love her for it. Janos and Az were his little managers, and they did a fine job of it, even if Janos was perhaps too friendly with the female customers, and even if Az had a habit of disappearing suddenly--and reappearing just as suddenly right when Erik was about to start shouting about his disappearance.

Still, Erik couldn't deny that he missed Armando a bit. He was sad that Armando had had to go and graduate, and even sadder that the idiot had decided to turn his studies into a career instead of working for Erik at a campus cafe for the rest of his life, like a good kid should.

"Time to open," Hank coughed, avoiding Erik's gaze as he jolted him out of his reveries.

Erik grunted in return and went to unlock the front door, turning the closed sign to open and standing back as the first two customers rushed in, desperately needing coffee before whatever godawful thing had gotten them up at 6am.

Erik helped out at the counter until 8 when Janos came in. If he could avoid it, Erik tried to never work alone with Janos. It probably would have been enough just that the man was naturally talkative, and that he was even more talkative in Spanish, which Erik understood but refused to speak. Janos did not care that Erik didn't speak Spanish. That he could listen in Spanish was all that affected Janos. But even if this chatty behavior hadn't put Erik incredibly off, there was also the fact that Janos was convinced that Erik wanted to sleep with him.

All Janos had needed to sustain this fact was the understanding that Erik sometimes, _sometimes_ , slept with men. From that moment on, Janos was absolutely sure that Erik was pining for him, and would never stop pining for him until Janos gave in, or until Erik died, and maybe not even then.

"You understand, Mr. _Lensure_ ," Janos said, the same way Janos always said his name, no matter how Erik tried to correct him. "I work for you. It would not be appropriate."

Erik had tried to explain at the time that even if Janos _didn't_ work for him, Erik would never, _ever_ sleep with him, or even _desire_ to sleep with him. Janos had pretended he hadn't understood. Things had gone on much the same way for the next four years they worked together.

The problem was that Janos knew exactly how good he looked, and, knowing this, could not believe that someone with eyes in his head and a taste for men would not want to sleep with him. It didn't help that Erik couldn't explain it to himself either. He acknowledged that Janos was attractive, that if he saw Janos in a fashion magazine he wouldn't think it remiss, but that did not translate into wanting to sleep with him.

So when Janos walked through the back door at 8 on the dot, Erik gave up the reigns to the coffee machine and went far away from him to bus tables and keep things tidy.

The morning didn't even start to get strange until he found himself standing at a table after wiping it down, staring out the window, wondering _"Where? Where?"_ as he scanned the crowd walking the sidewalk. Then he saw him under the edge of an umbrella and with the wave of familiarity he realized he had been seeing the man for weeks, maybe even months: the floppy brown hair was commonplace now, the rosy mouth officially run-of-the-mill, the strong cheekbones with the tapered jaw now routine, and all of it striking in its direct translation into familiarity simultaneously by his head and heart.

The eyes though, when they glanced up at the clock above the drugstore across the street, would never be ordinary no matter their familiarity: a sunny, almost electric blue.

Just as quickly as he came into Erik's view he was soon out of it, and Erik was left wondering when exactly he had first seen the brunet, when he had started looking for him, and when he had managed to memorize every aspect of him.

Erik took a deep breath, a hard swallow, and checked his watch: 8:09. He would be sure to be here tomorrow at the same time, too. He didn't want to miss the only man he had looked twice at (or twenty times) in nearly a year.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't that Erik wasn't easy to please; he wasn't easy to please, but that wasn't the point. He saw plenty of people in his line of business, and he saw his fair share of handsome young men. It wasn't even that the brunet from the sidewalk was the most beautiful thing he had seen even just that week. But there was something about the young man that made him forget about any other person he had looked at half-favorably.

He guessed that that blonde that had come in yesterday was probably more rugged: had he had a stronger jaw? a more strident set to his shoulders? It was hard to remember now, because all he could seem to see was the ever-present faint smile that pulled at the brunet's red lips, the angle of the clean-shaven jaw, the quirked eyebrows over those amazing blue eyes, visible even from Erik's window-watch.

From that point on, watching the brunet was a part of Erik's ritual, and he was constantly upset when the man missed their standing appointment on the weekends.

 _Must be a student,_ he thought bitterly, wiping down the table with more vigor than usual.

"What's up with you?" Sean asked one sunny Wednesday that was excellently splendid apart from the fact that the brunet had somehow missed their sidewalk date.

"What do you mean?" Erik grumbled. He was used to missing the man on the weekends, that he could deal with--but for the guy to stand him up in the middle of the week...that was an insult he could barely stand to tolerate.

"You seem pissed about something. More pissed than usual, I mean," Sean explained hesitantly.

"What? You have a problem with my sunny disposition?" Erik growled at the young man, earning a squeak.

"Now that you mention it, you have seemed kind of...strange lately. Not just today, but like...in general..." Alex agreed, giving some lady her latte.

Erik was just happy it was these two bringing it up to him--these two he could out-maneuver. Hank he could probably handle too, since the boy seemed even more intimidated by him than the others. But, God, if it had been Angel, or Azazel...he'd have to be more careful...

He didn't have time to be careful, though, because as soon as Janos walked in to take over the closing shift the man eyed him levelly and said, "What is it? What is the going on?"

Erik pretended he couldn't understand the Spaniard.

"Get better English before you try to talk to me, Janos," he said flippantly, and tried to walk off but Janos grabbed his arm.

"My English is very well," he pouted. "Now what is problem? Is it business? Is business okay?"

"Business is fine," Erik said, rolling his eyes, because it was. "Now, please, I have to go meet with our vendor. Remember to take out the trash tonight, I don't want to deal with it in the morning."

Janos was middle of the road: maybe he could avoid Janos' pointed questions and maybe he couldn't. But if word got around to Az or Angel, or, heaven forbid, if Az, that notorious tattle-tale told _Emma_ , there would be no end to his woes. He was going to have to think of something to give them to make them stop wondering what was up with him. But what?

He'd sleep on it. Maybe that would help...

                                       _________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

But the next morning nothing had improved, and it was only luck that he started the morning off with Sean instead of Angel--they had had to switch shifts so that Angel could go with her freshman tour group to the museum downtown.

"What do you _mean_ , you've never _been_ here before? You live two blocks away!" Some woman said loudly as she banged through the door. Erik recognized her: Cappuccino, extra foam, at least once a week. When one of the kids tried to make her drink she would complain about it being too fuzzy and Erik always had to redo it to keep the foam velvety, something the kids could never seem to manage because really, what did it matter?

Erik moved Sean away from the espresso machine when he saw her, but was too shocked to start her drink as he saw who she was dragging in behind her.

"I make my own tea, I don't need to spend five dollars a day on it like you do," his brunet laughed, taking off his gloves as he walked in after his friend, so-blue eyes just as impressive under the dim lighting in here as they were in the sunshine. _He's English,_ Erik's fizzing brain staticked to him. _Do you hear that? That's his voice. He's English. Two minutes ago you didn't know a single personal thing about him, now you know he's from England and he's thrifty._

"Well it's my treat today so go whole hog. And please don't embarrass me by ordering tea. They know me here," the woman hissed.

Erik thought that was a bit much. They didn't _know_ her here--they knew her annoying particularity for velvety foam. Erik didn't even know her name. And he certainly wouldn't think less of the brunet for ordering tea, even though their selection here was embarrassingly abysmal. The fact was it was useless to waste money on the good stuff when so many people ignored it for their coffee fix. The only kids who drank tea were the hipsters, and he didn't want anything on the premises that would encourage them to come here.

"Good morning, Sean," the woman said to the boy he had shoved in front of the register. Erik regretted it now: the brunet was standing there smiling at his lousy redhead.

"Good morning, Miss MacTaggert. The usual?" Sean sighed, eyeing Erik warily. Erik came back to himself and started on the milk.

"Yes please," she sing-songed back to him. "And I'll be getting my friends', too--same tab."

"What are you having?" Sean asked and Erik smirked to his milk when the lilting English voice said, "Hot chocolate, please."

" _You absolutely are not,"_ MacTaggert whined.

"Would it be more grown up if I added peppermint?" the man mused.

"Not at all."

"Well, I don't know then. I don't drink coffee."

"Have a latte," MacTaggert suggested. Erik frowned. The man didn't drink coffee--why waste money on a coffee drink?

"Mind if I make a suggestion?" Erik heard someone say, and realized it was his own stupid self.

He turned and probably looked just as shocked at his offer as MacTaggert and her date did.

The man was the first to recover, blue eyes lit up with a smile. "By all means!"

Erik set down the steamed milk and reached over Sean to ring them up, not wanting to say the drink out loud. The man would think he didn't know what he was doing.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?" the man asked as his girl paid for his mystery drink. Erik moved back to the coffee maker to start her espresso and the man moved with him around the counter, making Erik smile.

"I don't think so," Erik said, because 'No, but I've seen you,' sounded like a serial killer line.

"Do you work here often? I live just up the road--maybe I've seen you on the street," the man suggested. Erik shook his head. He definitely would have noticed this man on the street. _Did_ notice him on the street, actually, pretty much daily.

"I work here every day--I own the place," Erik explained, giving the woman her drink and starting on the man's.

Those blue eyes were ecstatic, which was catching and made Erik's smile widen, against his better judgment.

"That must be it, then. I walk past here every day. That must be why you look so familiar," the man said, and reached his hand over the bar. "I'm Charles Xavier."

"Erik Lensherr," Erik replied, breathing feeling tight as he touched Charles' warm and sturdy hand. He had meant to monitor himself carefully to make sure he didn't hold the man's hand for too long, and so ended up pulling away before it was probably socially necessary to do so. _Charles Xavier. He has a name. His name is Charles Xavier._

"How absolutely thrilling it is to meet you," Charles said, and Erik was smitten both by how over-the-top that statement was and how believable Charles made it seem, smiling at him like that. He was still breathless at being able to put a name to the face after so long. Who would have thought that he'd have this exacting annoyance of a woman to owe it all to?

Erik tried to think of something else to say, but his mind just kept repeating _Charles Xavier, Charles Xavier_ , so that he knew if he opened his mouth that would be the first thing out.

Remembering his girl, Charles turned to introduce her.

"This is my friend, Moira MacTaggert."

"Charles, please--he knows me. I'm in here all the time," she laughed.

Erik really wanted to explain to her that in his head she had been Annoying Cappuccino Lady until five minutes ago, but that would mean talking to someone who wasn't Charles, and he was having none of that.

Erik handed Charles his drink, happy that their fingers touched when the brunet took it, and said "You'll have to tell me if you like it."

"What is it?"

"Try it first and I'll tell you after," Erik suggested, and Charles took his advice.

"Mmmm," the man said, taking the first hot sip and maybe singeing his tongue in the process. "It's spicy, but sweet--just my type."

Did Erik imagine the way the blue eyes narrowed at that? He cleared his throat and tried to speak to cover his anxiety.

"It's a Chai latte--no espresso in it. A perfectly respectable grown-up drink for people who hate coffee," Erik explained and Charles beamed at him.

"Thank you, my friend. You've officially made me presentable as a cafe-goer. I suppose I'll have to come here all the time now that I needn't hang my head in shame in every cafe I enter."

Erik didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not, so he simply continued.

"There's nothing shameful about drinking tea--the only shameful thing is our stock of it. It's just that people hardly bother," Erik said, and then realized what had come out of his mouth and why Charles and Moira were staring at him: he had basically admitted to listening in on their conversation since the moment they walked through the door.

Erik's face burned hot and he knew he was blushing, but couldn't hide it. Charles didn't look upset though--didn't even look as shocked as Moira. He looked rather pleased, really.

"Wellllll, we're going to go sit down down," Moira said flatly, grabbing Charles by the elbow and steering him off.

"Thank you so much for the drink again!" Charles said and Moira dragged him away to the farthest corner of the cafe.

Erik tried to scrub the lingering blush off his cheeks and get back to work.

He realized that Charles had introduced Moira as his friend, not his girlfriend, and smiled, whistling as he made the next customer's mocha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik decides he needs backup when it comes to attractive brunets.

Charles stopped at the counter again just as Sean was going for his fifteen. Erik was lucky it was slow today or else he normally would have been up to his elbows in hipster collegians ordering organic americanos or something.

"I just wanted to say thank you again," Charles said, smiling gorgeously. "It was really delicious. Just perfect."

Erik was glad that Hank walked up then because it meant he could shove the kid in front of the cash register and better focus on Charles, but Charles was already focusing elsewhere.

"Hank! My goodness! I didn't know you worked here!" Charles exclaimed at the lanky kid. Erik grit his teeth. He just couldn't keep the man to himself today, could he?

"You two know each other?"

"Hank is my most promising undergraduate--soon to be my most promising graduate student!" Charles exclaimed, making Hank blush red-hot.

"Professor Xavier teaches my biology course," Hank mumbled as an explanation. Erik just gawked.

"You're a _professor_?" he said, staring at Charles blankly, trying to take him in in this new light. "How old are you?"

"Age is nothing but a number," Charles said disparagingly, still smiling. "But I'm twenty-eight."

"Isn't that...a bit...young?" Erik stammered. He had no idea if it was or not, but he hadn't pegged Charles for being so close to his own age. When he thought of what Charles did outside of the sidewalk where he saw him each day his mind strayed more to student or bookstore worker than professor-- _biology_ professor.

"Professor Xavier is a genius," Hank said reverently, making Charles blush prettily. Erik immediately wanted to think of more things, _many_ more things, to make him blush again, but his mind seemed to be short-circuiting.

"Oh, Hank--you flatter me. In reality I just have absolutely no life and so devote all my time to arduous study," Charles joked, but Erik got the feeling he was only half-joking.

"Sounds like someone I know," Erik intoned, glancing at Hank, who blushed even harder.

"Us geniuses have to stick together," Charles said, winking at Hank. Erik wished he had instant replay so he could see that wink over and over again. "Well, I should go--I think Moira's getting restless. I'll see you boys around!"

Erik frowned. Did he just get called a boy? Erik was tempted to jump over the counter and prove to Charles how much of a man he was, but managed to stop himself.

"Tell. Me. _Everything_ ," he growled instead, pouncing on Hank the moment Charles was out of sight.

"Wha--what?" the lanky boy panicked.

" _Tell me everything you know about that guy_."

"What--why?"

Erik started to say 'Because I'm _going_ to have him and I need all the help I can get,' but instead he stopped after the first word, which sounded much more menacing.

He pumped Hank for information all through lunch, threatening to force the kid to switch shifts with Angel to take the evening run too in order to get every last detail out of him. By the end he felt like a proper stalker: Charles taught Biology 411 Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9:00 to 10:50, there were quiz sections on Wednesdays and Fridays run by his TAs, Jean, Scott and Ororo. There were office hours every Monday from 3 to 5, although Charles was always either in his office or in the lab in the biology building.

Hank had read everything the professor had ever published and knew his work inside and out, although his knowledge of the man's personal life was middling, which was what prompted Erik to threaten him with shift changes in the first place. "I think he has a sister!" Hank had yelped in response. "He does--he _does_ have a sister! She goes to school here, I think. Some humanities major or something! Women's studies! It's women's studies!"

"What else?" Erik had growled, coming at him with the milk thermometer like a shank.

But when pressed the terrified boy could only come up with increasingly technical and mundane facts about Charles' biology studies. Erik had to come to terms with the fact that this was all that he could expect to get out of the bespectacled boy, and it was more than he had come in this morning expecting so he'd just have to be happy with it.

Still, he wished that he could have gotten some more pertinent information: namely, how much did Xavier like cock, on a scale from 'DONOTWANT' to 'bring that big slab of man meat here immediately'? Unfortunately, Hank had nothing to say on this matter, so Erik would just have to find out the old fashioned way: asking a girl what she thought.

"Emma?" he asked over the phone.

"What happened? Is someone hurt?" she blurted out immediately. "I'm on my way. Don't say _anything_ to the police until I get there."

Jeeze, he had had to have her represent him in court _one_ time for _one_ ridiculous customer being ridiculous, and now she always jumped to this same stale suggestion.

"No one's hurt, you hysterical bundle of estrogen," he growled into his cell phone.

"What is it then? You haven't called me in months."

"I emailed you last week!"

"That's not at all the same, sugar. You're not canceling on me, are you? Erik you _promised_ me dinner--you _owe_ me!"

"I'm still taking you out to dinner, just be quiet for two minutes together!"

There was silence from the other end of the line and Erik sighed with relief.

"Okay, so I need you to come down here bright and early tomorrow morning and look at this guy and tell me if you think he's gay or not. Not even full-blown gay necesssarily, just tell me if you think he'd scream and run at the sight of another man's penis."

There was no response and after a minute Erik scrutinized his phone to see if he had hung up by accident. "Hello? Emma? Are you still there? Hello?"

"You said two minutes," she drawled back. Erik grit his teeth angrily.

"Goddam it, woman, now is not the time."

"Okay, okay," she laughed. "So I take it you're back on the market? I can start pimping you out again?"

"Sorry dear: not in the market in general, just in particular," he responded, smiling. As if he was masochistic enough to let her set him up again _ever_.

"Well bless me, I'm curious. Of course I'll come down. We can catch up and you can tell me all about the ass hot enough to melt your icy heart. What time should I meet you? Ten? Ten thirty?"

"Try eight."

"Erik! No way!" Emma screeched into the phone so loudly he had to hold it away from his ear or risk permanent trauma.

"Come on, Emma! I'll give you coffee--as much of it as you want. Just get down here. It's important. I'll take you out to dinner tomorrow, too, or lunch, or whatever you want. Just come on!"

"It's incredibly short notice," she growled into the receiver.

"10 you can do but 8 is short notice?"

"8 is two hours sooner than 10," she grumbled.

"Are you gonna be here for me or what?" Erik hissed.

"Don't start with me on that! I'm always here for you!"

Erik shrugged, hoping it translated through the phone lines. "Prove it."

"...8AM. Have a grande _triple_ shot _extra_ chocolate mocha waiting for me," she snapped. "And you're taking me to the _good_ restaurant. The one downtown with the _oysters_ , and you're going to wear that _gray suit_. And you're going to bring me _flowers_. _Big_ ones."

Erik smiled. "Sure, sure. See you tomorrow at 8."

"With my mocha in your hands," she reminded threateningly.

"Triple grande, extra chocolate. Got it."

"And whipped cream," she added bitterly.

Normally this would be where he would tease her about it ruining her figure, but he didn't dare today. What if she told him bad news tomorrow about his crush, purely out of spite? She was the only person in his life that could even tentatively be considered a friend, but damn it she was hard as diamonds, and he didn't put anything past her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma's on the scene; always fear.

Erik met Emma at her car with an open umbrella in one hand and a fresh drink in the other. She grabbed for the drink before she even said hello to him, and made him hold the umbrella over her as he walked her to the shop, just because she could. He wondered when he'd stop paying penance for forcing her to be a good friend.

Still, even at this time in the morning, Emma looked stunning: her hair curled just right, made up to the nines and flaunting it in her white Gucci jacket, red dress underneath perfectly matching her cherry red stilettos.

"Where are my flowers?" she questioned petulantly.

"I'm sorry. I thought you meant for dinner," Erik said nervously. She better not cop out because of that.

"I guess that explains the blatant lack of suit."

"I didn't want to mess it up at work. It's in the back, though," Erik tried to appease, straightening his apron with both hands.

"You look nice," Emma allowed, taking him in and finally not glaring at him anymore. Erik had made sure to shave and get his hair cut for Emma's special dinner: he didn't want her to accuse him of being lax about it. Although he had dressed with the functionality of work in mind, he had done it with a bit more precision so that Emma couldn't say he wasn't taking care of himself (for Emma, sub-par clothing decisions were a sign of criminal negligence). In a pair of inky black pants and a soft grey sweater, she wouldn't even be able to say he wasn't dressing for the weather.

"So, where is this man?" she sighed, slumping into a seat by the window and making it look elegant somehow.

"Ummm," Erik hummed nervously, glancing at his watch. Charles usually came by in the next ten minutes or so, but what if he didn't today? What if something unexpected came up and Erik had dragged Emma all the way out here for nothing?

Emma seemed to catch his anxiety and growled at him anew. "Eriiiik, he _is_ coming, _isn't he_?"

Erik coughed, backing up and rubbing the nape of his neck as Emma leveled herself slowly out of her seat and towards him dangerously.

He was thankfully rescued right then when none other than Charles himself bustled through the door.

"Hullo, Erik! It sure is a wet one out there today! Somehow that Chai makes me feel drier--I couldn't resist," he bubbled. It was amazing that even inclement weather couldn't bring down his mood.

Erik was just as overjoyed to see him: it meant Emma wouldn't find it necessary to murder him. He wasn't naive enough to believe that witnesses would stop her.

"Sean, get it started," Erik called over his shoulder, not bothering to take his eyes off Charles, bundled up as he was in his sweater and pea coat and looking adorable for it, a real umbrella hooked over his arm, the kind that was too important to even be collapsible.

"Charles, this is my friend Emma Frost. Emma, this is Charles Xavier," Erik introduced. Charles seemed to just now notice Emma, who had moved up to stand beside Erik, although he eyed her admiringly now that he did see her. Erik tried to gauge if this was normal admiration or the sort that spoke of a desire to copulate. His finding were ambiguous.

"How absolutely excellent it is to meet you!" Charles exclaimed, shaking Emma's hand happily. Erik frowned. Hadn't he gotten a similar greeting out of the man on their introduction? At the time he had felt thrilled at such an over-the-top greeting, but now it left him feeling chilly.

"Likewise," Emma drawled. "Erik has told me so much about you." Erik winced.

"He has? Are you sure you're not mixing me up with someone? We were only just formally introduced yesterday..." Charles said uncertainly. Emma glared at him from the corner of her eye, a look that clearly said, 'You dragged me out of bed at this time of morning for someone _you've only known a day_?'

"I'm terrible with names. Maybe I'm mistaken," she allowed, which had to be painful, much as Emma loathed admitting mistakes, even fake ones. It was her own fault though. Erik had never suggested that she tell the brunet he'd been talking to her about him.

"Sit down while we wait for your drink," Erik suggested, motioning to the table.

"I shouldn't, I've got class," Charles wavered.

"They can start without you. It's not like you're the professor or anything," Erik joked, taking Charles' umbrella and pulling his messenger bag off his shoulder and hanging them both on the coat rack by the door.

"Well, if you insist," Charles laughed, and sat down dutifully. Emma did the same, sitting directly across from Charles and leaving Erik to sit catty-corner to them.

"So, how did you two become friends?" Charles asked happily.

"We went to university together," Emma answered automatically, not allowing Erik to respond. "Then I had to keep him from getting his pocket book sued away from him in court."

"Oh come on, don't bring that up," Erik groaned, covering his eyes.

"What's this? Erik's a criminal?"

"He hasn't murdered anyone yet, but it turns out upturning hot coffee over someone's head is pretty close in the eyes of the law. He's lucky he was only sued for damages instead of being locked up for assault."

"You didn't let them charge me a dime-- _as if_ you would have let them put me in actual jail," Erik scoffed.

"You poured coffee on someone's _head_?" Charles sputtered, looking as if he wasn't sure if he should find it funny or terrible and so was taking the middle road. He was barely able to thank Sean when the redhead brought his drink over. "How on Earth did you get away with it?"

"Purely because Emma is a genius who can't stand to be bested in court," Erik allowed. "I think she basically browbeat the judge and jury into finding in my favor. Either that or mind control."

"It helped that the guy was a total creep and was groping your waitress at the time," Emma smiled, not bothering to beg modesty over his comment on her genius. "But enough about me, I want to hear about _you_."

Charles gawked at her in surprise. "Me? Whatever for?"

"How do you and Erik know each other?"

"Well we don't--not really," Charles said, touching Erik's arm as if to make up for what he was saying. "My friend Moira introduced us: she's a regular here and Erik's rather my new drug dealer when it comes to Chai lattes."

"Oh, Erik, always pushing caffeine drugs on these poor college students," Emma tsked at him. Erik would have assumed that Emma was being facetious, but the way she eyed Charles, so domineeringly, made it suddenly obvious that she thought she was dealing with a child.

Charles laughed again. "I'm not a student! I'm a professor!"

Emma choked on her mocha for one tiny second before recovering and eyeing Erik carefully, although Erik wasn't sure what her eye was supposed to be saying to him.

"I'm sorry; I thought Erik was serious when he said that class could start without you. I should be used to his dry wit by now, un-witty as it always is, but he manages to surprise me still."

"I love you too, Emma dear," he sighed.

Charles jerked at that, staring at him for one moment before going on.

"Well, I'm undoubtedly late for class," Charles hummed. "Sorry to cut this so short. Emma, it was a joy to meet you. I hope I'll see you again soon."

Charles rose and Erik wanted to find a way to make him stay but couldn't come up with anything so he just helped him out the door, holding his drink as the man opened his umbrella.

"Did you get a haircut?" Charles asked when the door shut behind them, fumbling with his bag and not looking Erik in the eye.

"Yes," Erik answered after a moment, overjoyed that Charles had noticed.

Charles opened his umbrella with both hands and glanced up at Erik as he took his drink back, their fingers touching again. Handing Charles drinks was quickly becoming Erik's favorite part of the day.

"It...it looks very nice," Charles said hesitantly and Erik about smiled through his skull.

"I...thank you," was all he could think to say, although his brain was lunging at everything from 'I think you look very nice, too' to 'Take me now, right here on the wet sidewalk, I don't care'.

"Well... I guess I should be going."

Erik wanted to tell him that he definitely shouldn't be, but he couldn't speak he was still smiling so hard. He had to try though when Charles said goodbye and started walking away.

"Stay care!" he said too loudly, making Charles stare over his shoulder at him.

" _Take_ care," Erik amended, digging his knuckles into his forehead angrily at his brain. "Stay _dry_."

Charles threw his head back and laughed and although Erik loved the sound of it, he hated that it was directed at him. "Shut up and get out of here," he shouted, shooing Charles away.

"Goodbye, my friend. I'll see you soon."

 

"So," Emma said when he returned. He was still unable to stop smiling despite just embarrassing himself so he ended up beaming at her against his will.

"So," Erik repeated jovially. "What do you think?"

"I think you're in over your head, sugar," Emma sighed, and Erik felt his smile slipping.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Top me off and I'll tell you," Emma said, but she sounded sympathetic. Only really messed up shit could manage to make Emma sound sympathetic. She had accomplished it on exactly two other occasions: when Magda had broken up with him to "pursue her dreams" (which, when it came down to it, did not include helping run a coffee shop just shy of Greek Row), and when he had told her that he didn't think he wanted to date women anymore (she quickly changed her tone when she realized he was being serious and not melodramatic).

Erik shoved his hands in his apron pockets and went around the counter to make her another mocha, this time holding back on the extra chocolate and espresso. She was going to upset him. She didn't deserve the extras.

"How long have you really known him?" Emma questioned from the edge of the bar, staring at him knowingly.

"He wasn't lying. We really were just introduced yesterday," Erik grumbled.

"How long have _you_ known _him_?"

Erik huffed out his breath and eyed her without turning his head from the milk.

"A few months now I guess. How did you know?"

"Because nobody looks at somebody the way you look at him after just one day," Emma teased and Erik blushed.

"I don't look at him any particular way," he argued.

"Are you seriously trying to lie to me? You know what I do for a living, right?"

"You browbeat people into saying what you want them to say."

"Among other things. So don't try it. You haven't looked so moony over someone in ages." But she didn't sound happy about this.

"So what if I like him? What's wrong with liking him? He's great."

Emma smiled placatingly at him. "He's not your type, dear."

Erik scoffed. "What's my type then, _darling_?"

"Someone hard as nails! Someone that doesn't take no for an answer, driven, tough as leather, passionate!"

"Someone like you, you mean."

"Or Magda." Erik frowned. He didn't know why she kept harping on about Magda. That had ended _years_ ago. Erik was _glad_ it had ended years ago. The thought of being with Magda right now was _nauseating_.

"I wasn't happy with Magda--why do you want me to date another Magda?"

"You can't tell me you weren't happy with Magda. You only started saying you weren't happy with Magda once you weren't _with_ Magda anymore," Emma started up, but Erik shot her down. Sean was still here, although hopefully the line of customers was keeping him from overhearing too much. Angel was in the back and would be out any minute. He wasn't having this conversation here.

"Much as I adore your company, my little gemstone, you have work, and so do I," he bit out, shoving her stupid fucking mocha at her.

"You're still taking me to dinner," she hissed back.

"I know I am. In the meantime, get out of here."

Emma smiled at him glaringly, then stepped forward to kiss him on both cheeks.

"I'll pick you up at 6. Don't you dare keep me waiting. And don't skimp on the flowers just because you're miffed at me."

"I'm not _miffed_ at you, I'm _pissed_ at you. I don't get _miffed, God_ , Emma."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Erik do not see eye to eye and the cafe kids misbehave.

By time 6 rolled around Erik was feeling much better. Emma was just being her normal stubborn self and was only pulling any of this shit because she still hadn't given up on setting him up with the 'perfect' guy: by which she meant the male version of herself in general and some guy named Steve Rogers in particular.

She had been trying to set him up with Steve ever since things with the last guy she’d set him up with had turned into such a fiasco and he had known that she wanted to set him up with Steve and had been wanting to for months, so it was his own dumb fault for thinking she would be ecstatic to set Steve aside and jump on the Charles Xavier bandwagon. If he had been smart he would have let Emma think that it was _her_ idea to put him and Charles together, but it was too late for that, so he would just have to drill into her rock-hard-head that he knew Charles was better than Steve despite the fact that he barely knew Charles and didn’t know Steve. He was not looking forward to it, but he was determined and determination had gotten him through worse situations than this.

Three-piece gray suit garnering him catcalls from his staff, arms full of flowers (plenty of hydrangea-meaning heartlessness, he hoped she got it), he tapped his foot and waited for Emma to pull up. It had finally stopped raining so he left his umbrella on the coat rack, only slipping on his freshly-laundered black wool jacket.

When Alex burst in five minutes late for his shift he didn't even have time to apologize before he gaped at Erik. "Where the hell are you going?" he asked.

"Mr. Lensherr's got a hot date," Angel replied joyfully.

"It's not a _date_ , goddamn it. It's just _dinner_."

"Dinner... _with flowers."_ Angel continued. "And you're dressed to the nines. Sean said she was hot, but she really must be to get you in a suit." Erik considered taking back his estimation that she was the smart one of his crew.

"I wear suits," he grumbled, pulling on his collar where the starch was chaffing his skin.

Luckily Emma pulled up then and Erik shifted his flowers to one arm to get the door for himself, since Alex was busy pulling out his iPhone.

"No you don't, prom date. Not without a photo." Alex was a quick little bastard and snapped the photo at lightning speed. If Emma hadn't been right there Erik would have set everything aside to delete the damn thing right then and there, with absolutely no heed as to the safety of the iPhone. As it was though...

"When I see you tomorrow, that photo is gone," he threatened quickly, and rushed out to jump into Emma's tiny car.

"You made reservations, right?" she questioned after they'd exchanged their hellos and she'd glared at him over the hydrangeas.

"Of course, dear," he sighed back, pulling at his collar again.

"The suit looks great on you. I don't know why you don't wear it more often."

Erik shrugged and yawned and they chitchatted their way to the restaurant, where Erik tried not to strangle Emma as they got down to brass tacks.

"What do you mean he's _too nice_? How can anyone be too _nice_?"

"He's just so chipper! He's nice to look at, don't get me wrong," Emma said over expensive wine. "I can see why you've been so smitten, gazing out the window at him for two months. But now that you're on actual speaking terms you'll tire of him quickly enough."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's amazing."

"So are puppies. But you can't make me believe that you would want a puppy around all the time."

"He's not like a puppy--damn it Emma, you always do this. You take one aspect of somebody and suddenly that's the only thing they are. Like that bastard Shaw."

"What about Sebastian? We were very close."

"He was a man with a vision, and suddenly the fact that he was also a complete fucking asshole was swept under the rug. You did the same thing with Magda: she was driven and now suddenly you forget that she was selfish as fuck and condescending at that. She left me to be a fashion designer back in Poland, but somehow you act like she's running orphanages in Cambodia, all because she followed her dumb dreams."

"Oh, and I'm sure you know _so much_ about Charles Xavier's multifaceted life. You met him _yesterday_ , Erik. You can't tell me he's so much more than a pair of big blue eyes on top of great legs."

"He's a professor. A biology professor. He's a prodigy and a genius: his paper on human mutations revolutionized the field," Erik said, repeating verbatim what Hank had told him, or what he thought Hank had told him.

"Wow," Emma drawled, rolling her eyes. "Smart puppy."

"What, and I suppose that guy Tony you set me up with was just _perfect_ for me, alcohol problem and all," Erik sneered.

" _Recovering_ alcohol problem. Jeeze, Erik--the guy hasn't touched a drop in months. And talk about genius-- _he's_ a genius."

"And in love with his married secretary!" Erik fumed. That had been an awkward evening if ever there was one. It was the last time Emma had been allowed to set him up, nearly three months ago.

"What about that guy Steve I've been trying for ages to set you up with for ages? I suppose you're not even going to give him a chance now?"

Erik grit his teeth angrily—how had he known that she would not let this Steve thing just fucking rest?

"Not unless Steve Rogers is actually awful code for Charles Xavier," he disdained bitterly, shutting up only long enough for his waiter to give him his food. "Face it, Emma. You're just going to have to help me get Xavier into the sack so I can get over him and move on to the awe-inspiring Steve Rogers."

"It's all going to be a total waste of time," Emma complained. "I'm going to be expending all this energy helping you bag the dorky professor when I could be giving you what you really need: a rough-and-tumble looker with die-hard convictions and skin thick enough to get through ten minutes with you. Charles is too delicate: if you don't get bored with him after a day you'll send him running home crying to his mommy over an over-sharp joke."

Erik frowned. He wasn't sure about that. He remembered the slight barbs Moira had sent the brunet, along with the not-so-slight glares she had rained down on him due to ignoring her for Erik at the cafe. They hadn't seemed to bother Charles at all: he seemed to hardly notice them.

"He hasn't run wailing from my presence so far," Erik said with a shrug.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you haven't been on your absolute best behavior for the _one day_ you've known him."

Erik supposed he hadn't made anyone cry in the brunet's presence as of yet, but it wasn't like he did that _every_ day. Eventually, should the professor hang around him long enough, he'd surely get a picture of Erik's sense of humor: sarcastic with a twinge of cruel. If Charles weren't up to it they'd both know it long before it came down to dating.

"I'm not talking about getting married to him tomorrow. I just want your opinion about if he's gay or not so I can hang out with him all the time and eventually date and sleep with him."

Emma leaned back and folded her arms across her expansive chest.

"I think he's straight."

"You fucking liar--if you really did think that you wouldn't have argued with me all day trying to get me to ignore him for Steve."

That got the blond glaring, spearing a sprig of lettuce on her fork as if she were imagining Erik's face on her plate instead of her salad.

Erik made the smart move and changed the subject, and they talked about Emma's case load for the rest of the night.

But Emma recovered herself for the car ride home, saying "I don't want you to date Magda anymore. You're obviously over women for the time being. I just want you to be with someone who deserves you. Someone who's a bit of a challenge and won’t hate you for being such an awful jerk. I just don't think the little professor is the one," Here she sighed long-sufferingly. "But I can see that you won't be dissuaded so easily, so I'll stand back while you make this awful mistake. But I refuse to play a part in it. And when it all comes crashing down, you have to promise you'll admit that I know what's best for you and start taking the guys I set you up with seriously."

Erik sighed. He supposed that was the best he was going to get. “Fine, you don’t have to help me. Just don’t try to stop me, and shut up about Steve Rogers for the foreseeable future; his very name is starting to make me nauseous.”

Emma glared at him from the corner of her eye and went back to ignoring the subject on hand.

Things were still busy at the cafe when Emma dropped him back off. There must have been a slew of assignments due the next day or something: it seemed that everyone was bent double over laptops or diagrams or notes.

Angel rubbed her eyes at him when he came in, sleepy at eleven at night. He figured this was the last time she agreed to take Az's closing shift.

"Where's Alex?" Erik questioned, looking around.

"I'm right here," Alex's voice whispered. Erik leaned over the counter and saw Alex sitting on the floor by the cash register, looking up at him upside down, all spooked-like.

"What the fuck are you doing down there?"

"That's his ex over there, "Angel said, pointing out a girl knees deep in papers in the corner of the cafe.

"How long have you been down there?" Erik balked.

"Like, way too long. My ass is asleep."

"You better get up here before I wake it up for you," Erik growled and Alex was jolted to his feet by it.

"I can't tell if that's a threat of violence or a threat of sex," Alex complained, walking out the pins and needles in his legs and rubbing his sore ass.

"Let's not test me to find out."

"Agreed."

"Oh, someone was asking for you earlier," Angel said.

"Who?"

"Ummm I'm not sure. Some professor."

Erik's fingers started tingling and he had to bite hard into the side of his cheek to keep from beaming. Angel would definitely know something was up if he started beaming...

"What did he want?" he asked, proud that his voice sounded mostly steady.

"Nothing," Alex sighed, cracking his back. "He seemed super nice. How on earth do you know someone so nice?"

"I don't. He's Annoying Cappuccino Lady's friend. And Hank's biology teacher apparently."

"Well anyway, I like him. He gave us a huge tip, even though the Chai spice is apparently scraping layers off the inside of his mouth. Be nice to him so he comes back," Alex suggested sagely.

"How long was he here for?" Erik wondered aloud--how did everyone else get to spend quality time with the professor but Erik was constantly getting jipped?

"Not long. Maybe twenty minutes or something. He was sorry he missed you in your suit," Alex cackled.

"How did he know about me and my suit?"

Angel smiled patronizingly. "It's still on Alex's phone, remember? I think the professor liked it. He said Miss Frost was a very lucky woman. Those were his exact words: _very lucky_."

Erik blanched.

"You told him--did you make him think Emma and I were going out on a _date_?"

"What do you mean 'make him think'? It's a date! Friday night, you, a woman, dinner, flowers... _that's a date_!" Alex argued enthusiastically.

"She's just a _friend_ \--I'm not _dating_ her you complete fucking _idiots_ \--what's wrong with you? Angel-- _you're supposed to be the smart one_!" he shouted, making the two of them jump.

He was too upset to keep talking to them. He stormed off into the back room and then remembered that they could follow him here so he got into his car and sped home angrily. Angel was in charge of closing up tonight, so he didn't have to worry about that, but even if he did he didn't think he'd be able to, pissed as he was.

Why did they have to tell Charles he was on a _date_ \--and oh god, Erik had been much too flippant around Emma that morning; Charles would certainly believe they were dating. He had told the woman he loved her--sarcastically to be sure, but still: right there in front of Charles he had said it! And how would Charles take that now that he thought they were dating? Now in his mind they wouldn't even just be _dating_ , they would be _in love_ and dating! No hopes of budding romance between them could survive Charles thinking Emma and he were dating.

Erik would have to squash this as quickly as possible. The moment he saw Charles tomorrow he would rush out onto the freezing sidewalk if need be: he would not let Charles continue to think there was anything going on between him and Emma. The longer Charles thought Erik was in a long-term, loving, committed relationship, the more fully Erik's hopes of fucking the daylights out of the diminutive Brit some day would be squashed.

But then Erik slammed his palm down on the steering wheel, cursing.

Tomorrow was Saturday.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets himself into even more trouble and tries to come up with a way to get himself back out of it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to upload last night so there's an appeasement double-update today! Yeyyyyyplease don't be mad at me :D

Erik was in a shitty mood, but was hoping to get out of it once Hank got in.  
Maybe he wouldn't see Charles that morning, rush out onto the street and explain to him that he had absolutely no interest in dating Emma of all people. Maybe he wouldn't even be able to go so far as to confess that he had only one interest at the moment, and that interest was a certain blue-eyed, gorgeous Englishman. But there was one thing he could certainly do: he could torture information out of Hank. And the information he wanted was very simple: Charles' email.  
In the meantime, Erik steamed milk and planned out exactly what his message would say.

"Can I get something started for you?" Janos drawled to a customer. Erik finished an Americano and called it out but still managed to hear the patron say, "Yeah, is the owner here?"

When he turned Janos was eyeing him questioningly. Was he?

"I'm the owner," he said, eyeing the blonde woman carefully. Not woman, really. Girl. Twentyish maybe. She had slightly curled honey-blonde hair that bent over her shoulders in her double-breasted gray jacket, folded carefully over a black turtleneck. She had a heart-shaped face with lips that looked too stuck together and pale blue eyes that looked too severe. Needless to say, Erik didn't recognize her at all, and was wondering what he had gotten himself into when she leaned over the counter to look him over from head to toe.

"You're Erik Lensherr?" she asked, walking around the bar to stand out of the way of the cash register.

Erik eyed Janos in slight confusion. What the fuck was going on here?

"Do I know you?"

"Let's say we have a mutual acquaintance."

Erik eyed her more thoroughly, trying to will something to come to mind about her but it was no use: he had no fucking clue who the girl was. Had he horribly offended someone lately and they'd sent the most un-threatening person in their acquaintance over to threaten him? Was she trying to serve him papers? She wasn't being very discreet about it...

"Who _are_ you?"

"Raven," she answered flippantly. He didn't believe her for a second.

"Raven what?" he scoffed. But instead of answering she asked him, "How old are you, Mr. Lensherr?"

"What the fuck is this, the Inquisition? Fuck off," he growled at her, pointing to the door. Definitely not from the courts then: either sent here by some loon or a loon herself. Either way, he didn't have time for this juvenile shit.

"Is that how you treat people, then?" she questioned, eyes narrowed. The fuck was this?

"Actually, you caught me on a good day," Erik lied. Today was _not_ a good day, but this girl was making it into a worse one, and in his own dear establishment at that. "Now do I have to tell you again or do you want to see me in a _bad_ mood?"

The girl—Raven—stared him down curiously and said, "I think I've got it," before she turned on her heel and left, running into Hank on his way in.

"What was that about?" Janos asked.

"Fuck if I know," Erik huffed with anger. What was the world coming to when absolute freaks could just bounce up to his counter and be freaks to him in front of all and sundry? And then to look at him as if _she_ were judging _him_! These damned college kids--it made him wonder why he even bothered trying to have a normal life in the University District.

"What was she doing here?" Hank asked as he came up, still staring at the blonde as she walked down the street.

"You know this psychopath?" Janos asked.

"Yeah--that's Professor Xavier's kid sister."

Erik could physically feel all the blood drain out of his face, and had to sit down right there behind the bar, making Janos freak out in worry for him.

Charles' sister. He had just told _Charles' little sister_ to fuck off. He had just threatened _Charles' fucking baby sister_.

"Are you sure?" he wheezed at Hank, hand pressed hard over his heart to try to pump it manually.

"Hu--yeah I'm sure! He's got pictures of her all over his office," Hank replied with much concern. Erik forced them both to help him to his feet, taking the work phone away from Janos before he could complete calling an ambulance.

He wondered how long he had before 'Raven' ran back to her brother to tell him to stay away from the asshole at the coffee shop. And would Charles listen to her? If Erik still had a sister, and if that sister ran up to him telling him how some random acquaintance had cursed at her and kicked her out of his cafe and threatened her...o God he had threatened her. Not much, but enough to get a brother's hackles up, for sure.

Erik would be lucky if Charles didn't storm down here and offer to rid him of a few teeth, forget dating him.

He wished he had Charles' phone number, anything to get there before his sister--but so what if he did manage to call before Raven talked to him? Even if he got his word in edgewise, would Charles be any more likely to believe some near-stranger from a cafe over his own sister? Not likely.

But what was the other recourse? Wait and see?

Well...actually, that could work to his favor. Just pretend Hank had never told him anything. Erik could hear the conversation in his mind now...

'Why did you chew out my darling baby sister whom I love dearly?'

'Oh, that was _your_ baby sister? I had no idea! I thought she was a loon off the street and was forced to protect my premises with bad language and harsh gesticulations!'

It wasn't a great chance, but it was a better chance than he had had a second ago, so he decided to go with it.

Hopefully Charles was man enough to come to him with the accusation rather than slink off and never speak to him again. If not then they probably wouldn't have lasted long together in any case, although that was hardly a pacifying thought since Erik wanted to last together so badly, or at least date, or at the very least screw.

But Charles didn't come in to chew him out, and Hank's idea of being helpful was to give him Xavier's office address instead of his email address.

"I'm sorry! I only have my TA's email--I always just go to Professor Xavier's office hours!"

At least 'Raven' had given Erik a good excuse for wanting the email in the first place.

Erik wondered if he should email the TA, demanding Xavier's email. But Erik wasn't having any luck with side-characters: first Emma managed to look like his girlfriend, now 'Raven' was making him look like a monster.

Charles didn't come in the next day, either, which Erik tried to not be despondent over, it being Sunday. He took deep breaths and bided his time. He perfected his monologue for Charles. "Emma is my best friend. You literally could not pay me enough to sleep with her. Your sister looked like any other loony college kid off the street and I treated her as such and I'm not sorry for that. In other news: I like you and we should date. In lieu of that, I'll just continue apprentice-stalking you. Hope that's okay."

No, Erik was not panicking.

Until Monday rolled around.

He was standing watch at his usual 8am spot by the window, waiting for the brunet, but 8:10 had now come and gone and even tapping his foot and glaring at customers wasn't helping to alleviate his anxiety. Decked out in an outfit that was trying very hard to say both "Straight? Me?" and "Come on--someone dressed this dashing could never curse out anyone's little sister," Erik was a well-dressed hawk glaring at passerbys on the sidewalk.

By 8:30 he was a well-dressed hawk that had given up the ghost.

Charles wasn't interested in wasting his time with an apparent straight man--straight man with a girlfriend and a bad temper at that. By now the stories of Emma and Raven had fused into one solid hurdle of disinterest. But damn it if Erik was going to go down without a fight, especially after he had spent so long this morning getting ready and so long this weekend preparing his defense.

"Where are you going?" Azazel sighed from behind the counter as Erik whipped up a sweetened Chai latte as an appeasement offering for what he had done, or maybe for what he was about to do, he wasn’t sure any more. Azazel and Emma were particular friends, and, as Emma had filled him in on Erik's infernal mission of getting Charles into the sack, Az was being even more discouraging than normal.

"None of your business," Erik frowned back at him. Az rolled his eyes but didn't try to stop him. He still signed the paychecks, after all. But Erik knew he was going to text Emma as soon as Erik's back was turned. Oh well. Erik had bigger things to worry about, namely his sexual sanity and winning over the man who could make or break it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik implements his plan to curious results.

Erik checked the slip of paper again even though he had memorized its contents about two seconds after Hank had been forced to give it to him. Biology building: check. Second floor: check. Now for the hard part: Room 241. Personal office of Professor Charles Xavier.

Erik had gotten to the particular hallway, set off from the elevators, the brass 211-241 glittering above the open doorway, but he was having a hard time willing himself through. He could see the first door on his left, wide open but mostly silent. It said 211A-B next to it, and underneath, on paper "Collins, O’Neil". Shared office then? Was Xavier's likewise shared? He couldn’t help but feel that he would be dealing with this situation better if he had the floor plan, complete with escape routes should Xavier choose to physically remand him for bitching out his kid sister.

All he could do was gulp and try to get a better grip on the Chai he had brought along. What had his excuse been, again? "Hey, Charles, I was just walking around aimlessly with a Chai latte and thought you might like it, so I took a guess at where you worked and showed up here when you luckily didn't have class. Random, huh?" Somehow he didn't think Charles would fall for it. But what was his other option? Turn around and stalk off back to the cafe with his tail tucked between his legs?

_What's so wrong with that? Let's get out of here. Alex's too dumb to tell your wooing mission was a bust, and Az will be too happy with the flop to mock you._

But instead he felt his body move forward tentatively. Working on this momentum he kept it going, ignoring all the other offices till he got to 241.

The door was only open an inch or so, but the light was on and Erik could hear someone typing on the computer inside, and soft music.

Instead of a piece of paper there was a slice of plastic under the room number, and C. Xavier, Ph. D., Sc. D. was carved on it carefully in dark blue. Of course the man would have a doctorate, esteemed college professor that he was. Erik didn't even know what Sc. D. could mean. Something prestigious, he assumed. He suddenly felt very small and foolish standing here in his pressed slacks and dress shirt, cooling Chai in his hand.

Erik hadn't quite decided to leave when a group of students got off the elevator and started up the corridor towards him. Their incoming presence made up his mind for him and he turned to leave, feeling even more foolish. He wanted to turn back and just suck it up and barge into Charles' office, foolishness be damned, but he couldn't change his mind now, not with the students staring at him: two girls and a boy, eyeing him curiously with six pairs of smiling eyes.

"Are you here to see the professor?" the boy asked, tall and solid with brown hair, but not as brown as Charles'.

"Um..." Erik could only find to say.

"He should be in his office," one of the girls said, red hair, gentle sort of face. She moved forward and rapped on the doctor's door before opening it without waiting for a response.

"You _are_ here!" she greeted. "You've got a visitor."

"A student?" came the cheery British voice.

The redhead glanced him up and down, smiling slightly. "I don't think so."

But then Charles was at the door, looking curious and then modestly thrilled.

"Erik! Oh my goodness--what a surprise! I didn't even know you knew where my office was!"

"Hank told me," Erik said miserably, shoving his drink towards the brunet and wishing he could be struck by lightning or sucked into the floor--anything to avoid all these eyes on him.

There was a bright silver lining, though, namely in that beaming grin Charles was giving him. The man certainly didn't seem mad at him...maybe he didn't even like his sister, and was glad Erik had put her in her place. Maybe he had a thing for guys with girlfriends.

"Why thank you! Here, let me introduce you: these are my TAs--Jean" the redhead nodded, "Scott" the brunet boy, "and Ororo," the quiet, ethnic looking girl with white stripes in her hair. "Kids, this is my friend Erik Lensherr." Erik was too busy enjoying being introduced as Charles' friend to gesture hello. "Why don't you wait for me in my office--I'll be in in a moment."

The students piled in accordingly, Ororo shutting the door behind her sheepishly.

They stood alone in the hallway for an awkward minute, both of them clearing their throats and shuffling their feet.

"I'll get out of here, then," Erik muttered, angry at himself for coming here in the first place. He had miscalculated somehow. He had been excepting to find the man alone and instead there were three kids waiting on the other side of the door to tell if he had struck in or struck out.

"Must you?" Charles asked tentatively. He motioned to a couch set up in the wide hallway and sat down. Erik didn't feel much like sitting, but he didn't want to be rude so he sort of leaned his weight on the arm of the couch, glancing at the office door suspiciously. "Thank you for my drink, again."

Erik shrugged, picking at the inseam at his knee. "It's probably cold by now."

"No, it's perfect," Charles assured, taking a sip. "It--it seems sweater than usual."

"I added some white chocolate. You said the spice was hurting your mouth." As soon as he said it he felt himself blush crimson. Charles _had_ said that, but not to him—to Angel and Alex. God, he really was a fucking _stalker_.

"It's amazing. I love it."

Erik didn't know what to say to that so he shrugged again.

"Did you..." Charles started nervously, and then pushed through. "Was there something I could do for you?"

“How do you mean?" Erik asked with trepidation, glancing at him. That's it--he'd let the other man bring it up. Then he'd know if he had to be more apologetic about Emma or about Raven. Charles was staring at him, eyes so blue under the fluorescent, hair as dark and floppy as ever and just begging for Erik to reach out and brush his fingers through it. He was wearing a white dress shirt under a huge dark blue cardigan and khaki pants. Erik couldn’t tell if the cardigan was soft or scratchy, want to brush his hand over to find out.

"I don't know...I thought maybe you came to talk about...I don't know...something...or..." Charles didn't seem to know where his sentence was going so Erik stopped him.

"You come into my work all the time," he said, because that was neither here nor there. _God, you've known the guy a week and you show up at his office; an office he didn't even tell you about. You stalked him to his fucking office..._

"Oh, did you want to see where I work?” Charles piped up cheerfully. He seemed much more comfortable with this shift in conversation. “My office isn't very impressive. I do most of my studies in the lab..."

"I don't want to intrude. I didn't know your TAs would be here," Erik grumbled, staring at his shoes again. It seemed that Charles wanted to ignore everything between Erik and other people, and Erik wasn't sure if that's what he wanted too, but he went with it.

"We don't mind in the slightest! Come on!" And the brunet seemed so overjoyed about it that Erik couldn't bear to turn him down. Especially when Charles took hold of his wrist to lead him into the over-sized office.

There was one huge desk at the back of the room facing away from the window and towards the rest of the room where there were three smaller desks pushed up against the walls. Jean, Scott and Ororo were all at their respective desks and looked up when they entered. Erik was glad to see they had not in fact been pressed one over the other against the door listening in. In the middle of the room was a small round table with a book and some tea cups on it. To the left of the door was a tiny sort of kitchenette: a little sink, some cupboards, a water heater, microwave, and mini-fridge.

"Jeeze, I was expecting something a bit more modest..." Erik mused, eyeing the huge office.

"Professor Xavier is highly desirable. The school tries to seduce him where it can," Jean teased, but Erik didn't like the way she looked at _him_ when she said that.

"I'm very blessed," Charles agreed, oblivious. "I'll just get my bag and coat and we can go." Then he addressed his students apologetically. "I'm sorry, guys--I'm just going to show Erik the lab and I'll be right back."

"You don't have to," Erik balked, blushing. He was flattered that Charles was willing to skip out on important stuff with his TAs for him, especially after everything that had happened in the last few days, but he also felt like an imposition.

"That's fine, Professor," Ororo said. "We can discuss the lesson plan and have everything set for when you get back."

"Yeah, and it'll go faster this way without you going off onto another of your tangents," Scott agreed with a wink.

" _Ha ha,"_ Charles drawled back. "It's not my fault you lot needed to be completely retaught the effects of Tetrazangarine intake on fetal development."

"Well it's not like it's technically in the textbook," Jean laughed.

"The textbook needs to be rewritten. But I'll tackle that on another day. For now: my bag." Charles stalked over to his desk, hemmed in by overflowing bookcases and filing cabinets, and Erik followed him to get a better look.

The desk was messy with important-looking papers, random pens, and at least four coffee cups from his cafe, which managed to made Erik feel more joyful.

There were framed photographs of Charles and his sister--including one from childhood that Erik snapped up.

"That's my little sister, Raven. She looks much better now, I assure you," Charles explained with laugh as he wound his scarf around his throat. Erik grimaced to hear that that was indeed her real name.

 In the photo Raven was perhaps ten, and she had dyed her hair an awful sort of orange-red color which looked even more awful in the harsh sunlight of the photo. Erik hardly spared her a glance though as he stared at a teenage Charles. They were at the beach, dressed in high summer gear, which for Charles meant a white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of navy blue shorts that showed plenty of leg.

Erik had to make a conscious effort to swallow, and even managed to frown when Charles' words eventually sunk in. Why would he point out Raven? He had to know that Erik had already met Raven...right? Erik was suddenly happy he had foregone his initial plan of bursting in to apologize profusely. Could it be that Raven had never told her big brother of her abominable run-in with the big, bad cafe-man? Could Erik really be that lucky?

"That was in California: I was thinking of going to school there for a while but it rather fell through," Charles explained, looking over his shoulder at the picture. Erik realized this was the closest they had ever been. He could feel the heat of Charles' body warm his back.

"How old were you?" he said around the rush of saliva in his mouth.

"Oh, sixteen or so," Charles mused. "Shall we go?"

Erik was trying to think of a way to steal the photo, but it didn't seem possible at the moment. If the TAs hadn't been there Erik probably would have sent Charles ahead and snapped a copy of it on his cellphone, but alas the kids _were_ very much right there so Erik just set the photo down bitterly and tried to convince his hand to let go of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik and Charles have a heart to heart and Erik makes a new friend.

"The lab isn't far," Charles said as they walked down the hall. Neither one of them had given up the forefront so they walked shoulder to shoulder. Even though the hall was wide it wasn't quite wide enough for them to walk abreast, especially past the couches and chairs, so they bumped shoulders frequently, which Erik took as a sort of consolation prize for giving up the photo.

He got a short tour of Charles' biology lab, which was full of very pretty machines that meant absolutely nothing to him. If it weren't for Charles being there Erik probably would have lost absolutely all interest. As it was, though, Charles _was_ there, and Charles was an absolute joy, even to someone as misanthropic as Erik.

He really couldn't understand what Emma was talking about, _'too nice'_. Erik knew the type of course: they came into the cafe here and there. Everything was just super-duper, the coffee was super-duper, the bleary-eyed teen behind the cash register was super-duper, and Erik was...well, even that much cheeriness had a limit. Even _their_ levels of bright-eyed eagerness couldn't stand up to Erik's stony features, it seemed.

Charles was a true miracle: if he was phased at all by Erik's steady gaze he didn't show it, and indeed, Erik wasn't even sure that Charles could _tell_ his gaze was steady, or predatory, or, as Emma put it, 'a heartless, frozen death'. He laughed at Erik's dry humor, and could look Erik right in the face smiling, not looking as if he were afraid Erik was about to murder and eat him, which was the standard look Erik got.

The handsome Brit wasn’t anything like those aggravatingly chipper loons Erik saw in the café: he was smart and passionate. Talking to him for longer than five minutes made it apparent that the man didn't walk around assuming he was in heaven and everyone around him were angels. He knew just as well as Erik that some of this world was really really awful (they disagreed on what percentage ‘some’ entailed). The main difference was that Charles seemed to think that there was something the average human being could do about it, namely: be kind. He truly believed that kindness could heal the world and that the normal person on the street was intrinsically capable of kindness. Erik realized the man was horribly deluded, certainly, but he couldn’t be counted in the ranks of all those ‘too-nice’ _fools_ Emma was trying desperately to lump him in with.

Erik also realized that he liked Charles very, very much, and that he was going to have to clear this thing about Emma up on his own, as Charles was just too kind to bring it up, and as Erik needed to get it off the table so he could actively start seducing Charles.

"So, um," Erik started when they left the lab.

"Oh, right, you probably need to get to work," Charles balked in shock. "I'm so sorry I kept you so long! It must have been terribly dull..."

"No, not at all," Erik lied through his teeth. Charles only laughed at him.

"You're a terrible liar. Don't worry--I won't torture you anymore. I have to be getting back to the kids anyway."

Erik wanted to argue against this, but a good argument was hard to come up with on the spot.

"You'll be at it for a while--let's go get them some coffee to keep their minds active," he suggested, hoping that was just deft enough to work.

"That's such an excellent idea: I need to do something for them to make up for leaving...It's really...it's very sweet of you to think of them," Charles said softly, and Erik could feel himself blushing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a blush that was not directly Charles' fault. It seemed like it was a reaction only Charles could get out of him.

It was hard to work Emma into the conversation because Charles was accommodating and tried to keep the topics coming when all Erik needed was a short awkward silence to slip in his non sequitur. Finally, though, he just had to force it in while Charles was silent long enough to put on lip balm (that explained the rosy lips, then).

"Charles, I wanted to talk to you about Emma," Erik started bravely, and Charles immediately jumped into his pause.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry--Emma. How is Emma?" Charles asked, sounding cheery enough, though he wasn't looking at Erik, which Erik found strange since Charles normally had such an obsession with maintaining eye-contact as he spoke.

"Fine, I guess. We don't talk much," Erik said, hoping that this lie would lead into the fact that they were not dating without Erik having to just come out and say it.

"Oh? That's too bad. You two look really good together."

Erik frowned. Was Charles actually dense? Or did he just not care about Erik, and so he didn't care who he dated or didn't date?

"Charles," Erik said, deciding to bypass Charles' good-natured naïveté and just come out with it. "Emma's my best friend."

"That's sweet," Charles replied, but was Erik imagining it or did the man sound slightly strangled?

Erik tried to look the brunet in the eye but Charles was steadfastly avoiding his gaze.

For once Erik got the chance to just look at Charles without those blue eyes watching him look, and the sight of him made it easier to do the incredibly awkward thing he was about to do.

Reaching out, Erik grabbed Charles lightly by the elbow, feeling the hard bone of his joint through his wool jacket and cardigan, against the palm of his hand. Charles stopped, watching him carefully, his eyes curious but not over-bearing.

"What I mean to say is," Erik started, voice seeming softer than he knew it was capable of sounding. "Emma and I are _only_ friends."

With the shock of that statement Charles' eyes got wider, which somehow made them seem bluer.

He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to come up with anything, so Erik continued, voice harsh again as he tried to cover his bashfulness.

"I just wanted to clear that up, since it seems like you got the wrong impression yesterday..."

"I didn't mean to jump to any conclusions...Alex and Angel said..."

"Alex and Angel are idiots. They shouldn't have... _They_ jumped to the wrong conclusion. I'm not the most extroverted person, so I think if they see me interact with _any_ person outside of work they automatically assume we're dating."

"You're perfectly extroverted!" Charles countered, putting his hand on Erik's shoulder as insistence. Erik was prepared to let him go on believing in whatever good-natured misconceptions he had about Erik so long as it kept him close. "You're always perfectly hospitable to me...and the TAs today..."

"I'm only extroverted towards people I like," Erik replied, and just the very tops of Charles' cheeks turned pink.

Erik realized he was still holding Charles by the elbow, and let him go, although he had to allow his hand one last squeeze before it would give up its grip.

Charles was still staring into Erik's eyes--his own eyes somehow soft and hard at the same time. A soft gaze that was so determined it managed to look hard against its own nature. The smaller man seemed to decide something, and opened his mouth to speak, but after a moment nothing had come out, and then he was interrupted.

"I thought I told you never to show your face on this campus again, Xavier," a man growled, but, good as Erik was at growling, he had never heard the elite form of growling he was privy to now. It was more animal than man, really.

The speaker looked much the same: a hairy wall of testosterone, bringing the sideburn look back with a vengeance. Erik was immediately sure he was a madman because he was doing what only a madman would do: glaring Charles down with a menacing grimace, as if he would like nothing more than to rip Charles to shreds where he stood.

Protective as Erik naturally was, he didn't spare a thought as to what he was getting himself into as he shoved out an arm, pushing the professor behind him and setting his feet to take on this wild creature. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that, whatever the man had in mind, he would have to get through Erik to put his thoughts into actions.

He was only further confused when Charles said flippantly over his protective shoulder, "Now, now, Logan. Don't be a sore loser. It's conduct unbecoming an officer."

"Sore loser my ass!" the man snarled, spitting for good measure. "You cheated worse than a frat boy on his final!"

"If that's what you have to believe to keep your manhood intact, then by all means," Charles said, and Erik could actually _hear_ him shrugging. "In the meantime, let's not pretend you're going to murder me: you're making Erik nervous."

"Your human shield has a name then, does it?" Logan grumbled, standing down from his pouncing pose grudgingly. Erik tried to relax as well but still felt stiff.

"It does," he answered for himself. "And it would damn well like it if one of you would explain what the hell is going on here."

"So sorry, my friend," Charles laughed, stepping between Erik and Logan to begin introductions. "This is Logan: he lives in the flat below mine and runs the campus ROTC program. He's upset because I horribly unmanned him at a pub in front of all his students."

The hairy man's face immediately turned beet-red, and Erik thought he was going to have to protect Charles all over again, but the brunet continued as if he didn't notice.

"Logan, this is my friend Erik Lensherr. He runs the local cafe on the Drive," Charles said, using the student nickname for Campus Avenue.

"I know you. You're the Shark," Logan said, looking him up and down, and then glancing carefully at Charles.

"The shark?" Charles questioned.

"Some students call me that," Erik explained with a grimace. Charles looked at him curiously, so he had to explain. "On account of the teeth."

When Charles laughed Erik couldn't help but smile too, showing off his namesake, and he only smiled all the wider when Charles held his arm for support from his laughing fit.

"I have to get to class," Logan interrupted with a growl (the man only seemed capable of growling and snarling), looking at Erik too intensely to be comfortable. "It was nice meeting you, Shark."

He held out his hand for a shake and Erik met it comfortably, until Logan really got into it.

Logan's grip was a vice and he grasped Erik hard, eyeing him manfully. Erik just grit his teeth and tried just as hard to fracture a few of Logan's fingers, making the brawny man's eyes widen. He laughed in one loud burst and yanked his hand away in order to pound on Erik's back.

"Good on you, kid!" he exclaimed and stalked off, although if anything Erik thought he was slightly older than the hairy man.

"He tried to break your hand, didn't he?" Charles asked sympathetically eyes wet from laughing and earnest-looking for it.

"What do you mean tried? Get me to a hospital," Erik gasped back, rubbing his bruised hand.

"We can put ice on it back at the cafe," Charles soothed, caressing Erik's back.

He took his hand away sooner than Erik would have liked as he got a text, smiling as he read it, and looked at Erik endearingly.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing. Logan says he likes you."

Erik rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Liked him as in he wouldn't disembowel Erik for seducing Charles? Or liked him as in Erik was going to have to start fending off advances from wolf-men?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is a cat who drags home a little bird and Azazel is the unamused pet owner. Metaphorically speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all these lovely reviews!! My heart does a happy flutter whenever I get a new one and I love you all so! Thanks for reading :)

At the café, Alex looked overjoyed to see Charles again and Erik could practically see the dollar signs Alex projected securely over Charles' head. Az just sighed and eyed Erik as if he were an irredeemable cat dragging in another injured bird.

"Hey, Prof! Good to see you again!" Alex cheered.

"Hello, Mr. Summers! How are you? How's your essay coming along?"

"I haven't started yet. But I've still got twelve hours before it's due so..."

"...I'm going to pretend for my sanity as an educator that I did not just hear that," Charles said, seemingly trying for a growl. Erik patted his shoulder condescendingly and showed him how it was done.

"Alex, this place is filthy! Go bus the tables!" he snarled, and Alex's face went from cheerful to terrified in about half a second before he sprinted away from the coffee machine, dishtowel in hand.

Erik smiled into Charles' mildly disapproving frown and went behind the counter to start the TA's drinks.

"I'm sorry--we haven't been introduced, I'm Charles, Charles Xavier," the Brit said to Azazel, who was too polite to glare at him and so shunted all his glaring off onto Erik.

"You can call me Mr. Flemyng," Azazel said. His voice was always overly soft, as if he were talking someone down from hysterics, but Erik thought he sounded especially soft to Charles. He might not want Erik to date Charles, but he wasn't gauche enough to be rude to the Brit over it, unlike Emma. He seemed to feel sorry for Charles falling into Erik's clutches.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you. You're one of the managers here, aren't you?" Erik wondered where Charles had learned that, but not enough to wonder aloud, clearing his throat over Az's affirmation instead.

"So, what'll we have? Lattes all around?" Erik interrupted, pulling out three cups--he decided on Talls, he didn't need the TA's approval enough that he would waste Grandes on them.

"I'm afraid I don't know coffees much. I know that Jean always orders Americanos with cream, and Scott likes drip coffee with too much sugar. I think Ororo likes lattes..." Charles mused, taking out his wallet.

"Put that away," Erik growled, starting to steam milk. Charles only smiled and continued to shift his bills. If Emma could see the way he jovially stood up to Erik’s growling surely she wouldn’t think him such a docile pet. " _I don't want your money._ "

Charles slipped a twenty into the tip jar, earning a whoop from Alex who seemed to have a sixth sense where his tip jar was concerned.

"I won't pay _you_ then," Charles smiled tricksily before coming over to lean on the bar in front of him. Erik couldn't not smile at that, so he allowed himself a thin grin.

When the scream of the steam wand was done, Charles started up again with that knee-meltingly British accent.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Lensherr," he requested, and Erik couldn't say no, especially with Az so well distracted by the hipster girl wanting to condescend about their weak tea selections.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," the younger man grinned. Erik was overjoyed to see those blue eyes lit up with mischief, so blue and so focused solely on him.

"Well that might take a while," Erik laughed, then struck on a thought. He started wiping down the machine to keep himself distracted as he exacted it.

"I'll tell you over drinks," he said, and somehow not phrasing it as a question made him feel better about it. He chanced a glance at the professor and wasn't sure if the absolutely shocked look on his face was good or bad.

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" Charles asked, puzzled. Erik's heart lodged itself in his throat in its panicked flight to get the hell out of his oh-so-embarrassed body and he started choking.

He was incapable of speaking but Charles continued anyway, rather flippantly. "Getting me drunk will be much too daunting for a first date. Perhaps dinner would go easier on you."

Erik was angry that the man had made him panic enough to choke on his own organs when Charles had been going to say yes the whole time, so grinned, baring his teeth and said, "Who said anything about a date?"

It was Charles' turn now to go pink and stammery.

When he thought the man had suffered enough Erik eased his smile and reached over the bar to ruffle Charles' thick brown hair like he’d been wanting to all day. "I can take anything you can dish out, Professor. Drinks it is."

Charles smiled at him, maybe a little miffed but hardly showing it.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Charles sang, and Erik swore not to.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Let me help you back," Erik offered, piling all the drinks into a cardboard carrier.

"We could really use you here," Azazel lied, earning a burning glare from Erik which he ignored.

"I don't want to take you from your work," Charles replied, taking his drinks. "Mr. Flemyng, it was wonderful to meet you. I hope to see you again. Alex--go immediately home and write that essay!" and his voice _almost_ managed to growl. But when he turned shyly to Erik his voice was breathily soft.

"I don't know if you want it, but...well, here's my... my card. In case you wanted to call...about drinks, I mean," he said, handing Erik a business card. Neither of their hands seemed quite steady.

"Thank you. I will."

So with a rather embarrassed smile Charles took his leave and Erik went to work at staring down his card until he had the phone number there fully memorized, even if it did just appear to be his office phone.

Too soon, though, Az nabbed it from his hand and glared at it in disgust.

"Don't tell me you're really going to go through with this?" he disparaged.

"I certainly am," Erik growled in response, reaching to steal the card back, but Az was always so quick. "And I suppose Emma's brainwashed you into thinking the good professor is too nice, also?"

"You take Emma's meaning the wrong way. He's not too nice, he's just too nice for _you_ ," Az said, face turning a darker shade of red in his arguing. His face was always slightly red, but the slightest bit of chagrin turned it immediately into something befitting a lobster.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Erik asked angrily, fully ignoring any customers around.

"It means only that he is not too _nice_ , but you are too _mean_ , and I have to agree with Emma: you should not date him."

"Good thing I didn't ask your opinion then. Now give me that card back before I fire you purely out of spite," Erik hissed, and with a frustrated sigh Az handed it back. "Thank you, _Mr. Flemyng_."

"Is it my fault my parents are Satanists?" he asked lightly, back to his normal self. It was one of the reasons Erik liked him so much: when he saw a situation was hopeless he just gave up trying to stop it and let it runs its course. He was not in any way a meddler. A tattle-tale, perhaps, but not a meddler.

As the red-faced man got out his cell phone to tattle to Emma, Erik got his out for a much more refined purpose. Namely, he emailed the address listed on Charles' card.

_As for drinks, I'm free any time. The joy of having plenty of lackeys around to open the cafe for me in the event of a hangover. What do you think?_

_-Erik_

He was only confused when he got a text a while later, and scanned it angrily. He didn't recognize the number, and who would be texting him anyway?

_What do I think of your ownership of lackeys? I'm entirely envious. As for drinks, for the sake of the morning after I believe we should focus on Friday night. Your thoughts? -Charles_

Erik was thrilled, his heart hammering ecstatically in his throat as he saved the phone number to his directory, only deciding at the last minute to save it as Charles instead of Future Husband. He marveled that Charles' texting-grammar was so impeccable and added that as yet another reason to be so very head-over-heels about the brunet.

 _Friday it is._ He was too excited to write back more.

Charles' response was immediate. _You really are going to regret this, my friend, once Saturday morning comes._

 _We'll see, Professor,_ he replied, hoping his condescending incredulity would get across via text.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik loses his cell-phone privileges, and Erik and Moira have a chat.

Having Charles' phone number was impossibly addictive. By Tuesday night, Erik had to grudgingly delete his text inbox for only the second time since he'd upgraded his phone a full _year_ ago. He realized he would have to invest in unlimited texting. He realized how unfair his 'No Texting At Work' rule was.

"Put it away," Az growled at him Wednesday morning as he tried to steam milk with one hand and text with the other.

Erik just frowned at him. _Yeah right_ he was going to ignore Charles for some bint's latte. Even if he _did_ burn the milk, it's not like she'd be able to tell the difference.

"What can you possibly have to say to him at seven in the morning?" Az questioned, snatching the phone from him.

"Hey!"

"Focus on that latte. I'll give it back when you finish."

Jeeze, anyone would think that _Azazel_ was the boss and _he_ was the underling. Erik finished the latte at lightning speeds as Az invaded his privacy.

"You've been discussing _The Once and Future King_ since _yesterday_?" the red-faced man balked.

"Nobody asked you! Charles has wide-ranging interests, and one of them happens to be excellent literature," Erik growled, shoving the latte at the woman and grabbing his phone back. Luckily the next guy just wanted shitty tea, which required no second-hand brain cells to produce.

"You don't feel the slightest bit bad that you're dragging this poor sweet boy into your black hole of misanthropy?"

"I'm not dragging him anywhere! If he doesn't want me he has the right to turn me down."

"You'd leave it at that?" Az questioned bemusedly. "If he decided you were too cruel and hateful you'd just let him walk past the window every day?"

Erik declined to answer, because he damned well knew that he wouldn't, and he knew that if he tried to lie, Az would know instinctively.

"I don't know why you make it sound like I'm some evil villain running around in a cape beating up cripples or something—I've never done anything the least bit mean to you or the kids."

"You called Angel and Alex fucking idiots just Friday!" Az reminded, turning lobster-red. Erik rolled his eyes.

"That does _not_ count. They _were_ being fucking idiots. I've never done anything mean to anyone who didn't _deserve_ it."

Az pretended to strangle him—-or maybe didn't pretend, maybe he was just bad at it.

He had to stop when none other than Annoying Cappuccino Lady came in. She saw Erik and recognition dawned on her face, followed quickly by suspicion, as if she thought he was trying to look up her skirt. Or maybe that he was trying to seduce her friend.

Erik decided to be on his best behavior. He had already cursed out Charles' sister, which could be considered an anomaly on its own, but would be a pattern if he kept adding to it.

"Good morning, Moira," he said, dusting off a dashing smile and putting it on. He started her milk automatically.

She smiled back readily--she was obviously one of those people whose first reaction was to smile. No wonder she and Charles were such bosom buddies. Azazel on the other hand looked at him as if he'd sprouted tentacles. Sprouting a pleasant demeanor wasn't so far off, for him.

"Hello, Erik," Moira replied, getting out her wallet. Erik almost decided to give her a drink on the house, but then changed his mind: free drinks would only up her guard. She would know he was up to something for sure. Women were like that.

So he let Az ring her up and worked on her drink, being sure to keep his face open and pleasant rather than stony and murderous.

"On your way to work?" he asked her as he got the espresso ready.

"I am, actually. On campus," she said, pointing the way as if he didn't know where campus was. She was lucky he had to be nice to her or he would have re-decided to hate her again for that. He had started hating people for a lot less, after all.

"Are you a professor as well?" he questioned readily, and then realized that maybe this would give away the fact that he only cared about her because she was friends with a certain professor and could put in a good word for him.

Her eyes did squint a bit, but she continued happily enough, so maybe she hadn't read anything into it.

"No, not actually. I work for campus PD," she replied. Erik tried not to look surprised. She was a skinny wisp of a woman. He didn't know how any drunken frat boy would be scared of her enough to behave himself, although maybe a gun and a tazer helped with that.

"That sounds dangerous. You must be one tough cookie," he said, winking at her, trying not to gag on his own words. God, she better put in a fucking good recommendation for him to make that worth it--the words "tough cookie" had actually just come out of his mouth. He would die with the shame.

Moira meanwhile blushed immediately. Damn, Erik hoped he wasn't over-doing this. What if she thought he was into _her_ and went telling _that_ to Charles? He wished that women thought normally so he could plan ahead like a normal person instead of dodging the constant fluctuations of their thoughts.

"I get by. You have a tough reputation as well. The Shark?"

Az snorted, overhearing that.

"I can't help my stunning smile, I guess." From the sound of it, Az was having problems breathing. He had never had to sit through listening to Erik charm someone before. It was apparently hilarious.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with being a dangerous predator then?" Moira asked, and her eyes seemed too interested in the answer. Erik considered his response carefully but tried to make it sound un-studied.

"I'm a very civilized shark: no cold-blooded predations whatsoever."

"Only warm-blooded predations, then," she teased. Erik smiled, genuinely this time. Maybe this chick wasn't half-bad after all…

"Absolutely," he agreed, and passed her a biscotti on the house for good measure. "Have a good day at work. Taze some hipsters for me while you're out there."

Moira laughed, waved goodbye as she walked off.

Az gazed at him as if he were a pod-person replacement of his usual self and the younger man was trying to figure out the best way to rid himself of the impostor.

"I have _never_ seen you be pleasant to someone for the sake of seducing _anyone_. This professor is a miracle-worker."

"Does this mean you're going to help me?"

"It means Emma's really got her work cut out for her trying to rescue this poor guy from you."

"She's going to let me date him. We talked about it."

"Yeah, okay," Az scoffed, and Erik was suddenly unsure. Had it been naïve of him to believe that Emma would really let this thing take its course against her advice and against her desires? Looking at it that way it certainly didn't _seem_ like something she would do. Things were generally Emma's way or the highway…

If he were Emma—well, no, if he were Emma he would stop being an idiot and love Charles because Charles was perfect. But if he were Emma but also idiotic enough to not like Charles then he would simply say he was going to stay out of it so that he could go about not staying out of it in private. This seemed to be what Azazel believed had happened, and Erik realized how stupid he had been to believe it had not happened. He was normally so quick to point out conspiracy plots. How had he missed this one?

Erik frowned. He had never seen Emma fail before, but if her heart really was set on rescuing the professor, then he was damned well going to give her a run for her money. She'd never lost to an opponent, but she'd never had an opponent as intent on winning as he was.

It was going to take a lot more than her hard-hearted distaste for Charles and her harder-hearted distaste for losing to make Erik give up. Come what may, he was _going_ to go bar-hopping with the man this weekend, and, goddamit, he was going to _enjoy_ it, even if Charles _did_ sound concerned for his health. The man might think Friday was going to be too much for him, but he just had no idea how absolutely determined Erik was to love every aspect of it.

Besides, he was technically German. What were the chances of some posh Brit professor drinking a rugged German man like him under the table?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik has an interestingly miserable morning.

Saturday morning, Erik woke up one bleary, painful, nauseous blink at a time and didn't recognize the feel of the sheets, the quilted comforter, the mattress, or the body beside him in bed.

 _FUCK_ was his first coherent thought.

How had he managed to pick up a random girl last night when all he had wanted was Charles? Had Charles been there when he walked off with this trampy woman? Why had he let him? He must be fucking pissed...he had to call him, quickly, before things could get any worse.

But this thought of action coupled with his body-wracking panic was more than his hangover could handle and he had to close his eyes and focus on not throwing up rather than on extricating his arm from under the heavy weight of his bed-partner. He realized that, by the feel of it, he was not wearing any clothes and tried not to let this send him into another wave of panic and nausea. What the fuck had he done last night and how much had it ruined anything he could hope to have between him and Charles?

The week had gone by so well: Charles stopping in every couple days for a drink and to chat about where they should go for their night out (neither of them called it a date--something that irked Erik a bit--he never should have teased Charles about it--he had obviously created a complex). Emma had left him well enough alone. Raven hadn't come back to the cafe to scream at him to stay away from her brother. Doing his best to charm Moira had not seemed to hurt his chances, either.

When Friday night rolled around everything had gone perfectly smoothly: they met at the cafe at ten, neither of them dressed particularly fancy, and had started off with beers and bar food at the local pub ("if you could call this a pub," Charles had said, more disappointed than bitter). From there Erik's head got hazy...they had stopped by the cafe again to check up on the kids before closing, then gone to another bar...shots had been involved somehow...copious shots...Logan was there, Erik seemed to remember. Thinking was giving strength to his already invincible headache, though, so he stopped.

As soon as he was up to it he dragged his arm out from under the life-ruiner in bed beside him, not caring if he woke her or upset her. The movement upset him more than anyone though. He didn't think he'd ever been so hungover in his life, was perhaps even still a little drunk, exactly enough to be in the worst spot between two worlds. The wrenching of his arm was just enough to wake his date and more than enough to make him feel certain his stomach was not going to be with him for much longer.

The mass in the comforter next to him let out a miserable groan and groped a hand to the nightstand for the clock there and Erik hyperventilated. Because both the groan and the arm were absolutely, positively not female. And, somehow, having ditched Charles for some random _guy_ was one-hundred percent worse than ditching him for some _girl_. A girl maybe he could explain away--Erik counted himself as perhaps 60% straight, after all, so the occasional girl was bound to turn up. But to pass up the man of his frequent nightly dreams in order to go home with some completely _random_ guy from a bar he was at _with_ the guy of his dreams was just too much.

Erik looked around anxiously, trying to figure out where the bathroom might be, because he was certainly going to be sick.

"Erik, no way. No way am I getting up at 8 in the morning on a Saturday. Go back to bed," the man beside him groaned, and Erik felt both better and incredibly worse at the same time. Because he recognized that voice.

"Charles?" he hissed, but it sounded weaker and sicklier than that.

The brunet pushed the comforter off his head and eyed Erik with those amazing blue eyes, barely open in the weak glare of the early morning light, hair tousled and gorgeous and _everything_.

"Yes?"

Erik just stared, too shocked to speak, head feeling like shit and mouth tasting like shit and body aching like shit and not at all how he had dreamed of being when he woke up with Charles.

"Did we--what did--Charles, _what happened last night_?"

Charles' eyes widened and he leaned up onto his forearms, looking tired but certainly not very hung over. He didn't look as if he were dying at least, which was exactly how Erik felt. He did look very naked though, which made it ten times harder for Erik to focus on anything, such as not throwing up.

"You...you don't remember?"

Erik's heart started beating in his mouth instead of his chest and that was really unfortunate because it was greatly adding to his nausea. Remember _what_?

"Erik I--we..."

But Erik was beginning to get the idea: Charles' apartment, Charles' bed, no clothes.

Erik didn't even have time to explain himself before he bolted up out of the bed, stomach fighting its way out of his body.

He threw open the first door he got to but it was a closet, so he lunged for the second, shoulders already jumping, and barely managed to shove the toilet seat up before he started throwing up, although he somehow managed to kick the door shut behind him.

After his first upheaval all he felt was gritty and sick and awful, but as it continued a couple more times he felt increasingly better, so that by the end of it he was able to turn on the light in the bathroom and not completely feel as if his eyes were going to drip out of his head.

When he stood his legs felt weak and wobbly, his height too high, his skin too cold, his flesh too hot. But he thought he could face the conversation he was about to have with Charles without throwing up on him. So he rinsed his mouth out from the tap and opened Charles' medicine cabinet to get to the toothpaste, chewing on some for a few seconds before rinsing it out again.

His reflection in the mirror looked like absolute death, pale and sickly, his cheeks sunken and sallow, skin around his eyes puffy and blue-ish, but none of that could be helped so he let it slide.

Back in the bedroom the bed was made and his clothes were stacked on the edge neatly. Charles was nowhere in sight, but the bedroom door was closed so Erik assumed he was in the kitchen or something getting breakfast. The man must have an iron-cast stomach not to have been sharing the bathroom with Erik after last night's drinking. Erik sighed: Charles had indeed warned him. He wouldn't readily doubt the brunet again, that was for sure, he mused as he grudgingly got back into last night's clothes, wondering bitterly how he had managed to get out of them in the first place.

Charles was sitting on the couch in the living room in a fresh set of clothes looking as if he had spent the night grading papers, not throwing back shots. It took Erik a moment to take in how good he looked (the pale gray slacks, charcoal sweater with the white stitched patterns over what looked like maybe a purple T-shirt) before he could get his body working again. The man only glanced at him a second before staring at his hands again, though. Erik thought he must really look like hell as he walked over and sat down next to the brunet.

"I'm sorry about that," he mumbled, hoping he didn't still smell of vomit. "I can't remember the last time I got sick like that. But then again I can't remember the last time I drank so much. And I don't think I remember half of what I drank last night so..."

Erik knew he was babbling, but couldn't stop himself until Charles stopped him.

"You really don't remember what happened last night?" Charles asked, sounding scared.

Erik tried to eye him levelly but the brunet was avoiding his gaze.

"Charles, _what_ happened last night?" he asked lightly, but the other man flinched nonetheless.

"Erik, I'm so sorry--I'm so sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead with his lithe fingertips. Was it the worst then? Had he managed somehow to bag the brunet and have no memory of it? Was their first time together truly lost to some alcoholic haze?

"What? What did we do?" Erik asked, gritting his teeth against the answer. Charles eyed him for a moment with scared blue eyes and then ducked away and said, as if ashamed of his very words: "I...I sucked you off..."

Erik allowed his head to drop into his hands, pulling his hair in punishment for getting so drunk that he would _ever_ forget the vision of Charles' deeply red mouth wrapped around his cock. He felt as if his heart or brain (or both) was going to explode from pure frustrated agony at the unfairness of this situation. He had been pining after Charles for months, seducing him for weeks, and the first time he got lucky he was too drunk to even remember it.

"I'm so sorry, Erik!" Charles gasped, sounding as if he were about to cry, too. " _I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry_."

Erik's head snapped up--the brunet really _was_ about to cry, eyes wet, eyelashes already clumped together with tears.

"What are _you_ sorry for?" he asked in shock.

"I--I've never _raped_ someone before! I've never done something like this, so _awful_. I'm so miserably sorry--and I know that doesn't make up for it, and I'll never drink again, and I know _that_ doesn't make up for it either--nothing will ever make up for it," Charles started to wail, but Erik didn't let him continue.

"Charles, for God's sake, you didn't _rape_ me!"

The other man stared at him in watery-eyed surprise before biting his lip anxiously.

"But you're so upset..."

"I _am_ upset, but not because you gave me a blow job, Charles, _God_! I'm upset because I don't _remember_ it!"

Charles eyed him for a shocked moment, still looking reticent, as if Erik might be lying.

"You...you're not _mad_ at me?"

"No! If I could remember it at all I'm sure I'd be absolutely thrilled with you. As it is I'm just incredibly _pissed_ that I managed to get anywhere near drunk enough to not remember _that_ ," Erik said not a little bitterly.

"You _want_ me to suck you off?" Charles asked in a thin voice, as if _he_ couldn't believe _his_ luck.

Erik would have laughed at him, but he didn't think his stomach was quite up to laughing yet so he just smiled and reached out to re-tousle Charles' soft brown hair. "Frequently," he replied, not sure if he meant he frequently wanted it or he wanted Charles to do it frequently or both. Either way, Charles seemed to finally believe him because he smiled hugely.

Suddenly, though, Charles was leaning his face towards him, and Erik had to pull back to keep space between them, putting his hands securely on Charles' shoulders to really keep himself from being kissed breathless.

The brunet looked up at him, surprised and not a little afraid again.

"Charles, did we--did we _kiss_ last night, too?"

Charles broke out into a rather sheepish smile, nodding. Erik groaned, letting his head drop forward till it landed on Charles' shoulder, the wool scratchy against his forehead.

"Is that so bad?" Charles asked in a thin voice.

"I just was really hoping to _be there_ for our first kiss," Erik explained, depressed. He was missing out on all the good stuff. _Not acceptable_. He was never going to get drunk again, he vowed; not when this was the punishment.

"Well, all the main actors are still on hand. We could always recreate it," Charles murmured into his hair and Erik shivered. He wasn't completely sure that this wasn't due to his massive hangover though.

"Maybe we can recreate it when I haven't just thrown up," Erik requested and Charles laughed, which seemed to be acquiescence. To reinforce it, Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's shoulders. It was incredibly comfortable here pressed to Charles, even with the scratchy wool, but he still agreed when Charles suggested "Perhaps you'll feel more romantically inclined once you've gotten some more sleep. 8AM on a Saturday really is ungodly."

"Are you joining me then?" Erik asked hopefully.

"I would," Charles frowned back. "But I can never fall back asleep once I'm up for the day. I'll play the good host though and go get you some tried and true hangover cures from the convenience store down the street."

Erik frowned. The only hangover cure he wanted was a bed full of brunet.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik gets a recap and a resistance front.

"You can borrow some pajamas and I'll put these through the wash," Charles offered, sitting Erik on the edge of the bed and unbuttoning his shirt for him.

"You should let me do that," Erik said around his heavily beating heart. "I'm not well enough to deal with what would invariably come from you undressing me."

Charles eyed him joyfully, blue eyes sparkling. "Feel better soon, because it's maddening not being able to kiss you."

As Erik climbed into bed in borrowed pajamas that came well above his wrists and ankles, he asked, "Is Raven home?" He didn't want this to be his first formal introduction to the blonde girl he had so unceremoniously kicked out of his cafe.

"No," Charles said slowly, and his voice was filled with worry. "She’s been off on her own a lot this week, but I would have thought she’d call to say she was staying out...or at least texted..."

"Hm. I'm sure she's fine. She's a big girl," Erik chuckled, remembering the testy way she had handled him.

"I'm sure you're right," Charles sighed, leaning over him and kissing his temple. "That doesn't count as a first kiss, right?"

"Nope, feel free," Erik mumbled, closing his eyes to the increasing sunlight infesting the room. Charles laughed and kissed him again just above his ear and Erik reached up drowsily to stroke his hair. The Brit caught his hand, brushing his lips over Erik’s knuckles before getting his keys and heading to the door.

"I'll be back soon. Get some sleep."

But Erik was only just going under when someone started knocking on the front door.

He tried to ignore it at first, but then they started ringing the buzzer, which was named disgustingly aptly: a shrill, insistent trill that settled into the spot directly behind Erik's eyeballs and refused to leave. So Erik shoved himself up and stumbled along to the front door, throwing it open angrily.

To none other than Raven.

She looked just about as hung-over as he did, and seeing him on her own doorstep at 8:30 in the morning apparently wasn't helping her.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" she screeched, but then took in her brother's pajamas on him and seemed to get the picture based on her wrathful grimace. " _You're fucking kidding me._ "

"Normally I'd be all about having this argument with you, but today I'm just not feeling it, and you don't look like you're up to it either, so let's just call it a truce until neither of us is suffering from alcohol poisoning," Erik suggested hopefully, but maybe accusing her of not being raring to go with this thing was a mistake because she suddenly set about making herself look every bit ready for it. She drew herself up to full height, straightened her crooked skin-tight dress and stepped into his space with a finger fully ready to start jabbing into his chest. He backed up hastily to avoid it, knowing what stabbing apparatuses women's index fingers could be.

"Where the fuck is my brother, you kraut bastard!?" she shouted, making the both of them wince. Erik covered his ears and rushed back to Charles' room, locking himself in. This only gave her something to pound on, though, so he had to change his plan, deciding that, sick as it would make him, he was just going to have to shout her into compliance. It had kind of worked to his favor when telling her to fuck off out of his cafe. Maybe he'd get lucky.

In fact, he got more than lucky: he got a miracle. Because as soon as he threw open the door and before he started shouting in turn, the front door opened again and Charles walked in on Raven's current death-threats.

Erik looked at him for one surprised moment and then put on his absolutely most pitiful face and slumped sideways onto the door frame, whining " _Charrrrlllessss_!" in a winningly pathetic voice.

This was all that was necessary.

Charles immediately threw down his convenience store stash and started shouting at his sister.  
" _Raven--what on Earth is wrong with you? Can't you see he's sick--leave him alone! You better still be drunk, acting up like this! You need to go to your room and sleep off this bad attitude of yours. And keep quiet! Erik needs to rest!"_ he demanded, pushing Raven upstairs to where Erik assumed her room was located. Charles relented enough to give her one of the Gatorades he had purchased, along with some Saltines, though.

Then he ran back to help Erik to bed again, slipping his shoulder under Erik’s arm as if he needed to be carried back to health.

"I am _so sorry_ about that--she isn't normally like this with my friends," he apologized, coaxing him back under the covers.

"What about your boyfriends?" Erik asked as his head hit the pillow again.

Charles stared at him a second before blushing, smiling shyly. "This is a bit more typical of her boyfriend behavior," he allowed. Erik smiled back. He wouldn't mind taking him up on that first kiss recreation now.

But instead, Charles pressed a bottle of yellow Gatorade into his one hand and some Tylenol and Dramamine into the other before kissing him on the forehead and running to the kitchen to warm him up some chicken broth.

It was hard just to get the pills down without retching them back up, but he managed it, getting the medicine aftertaste out of his mouth with a Saltine that was just as difficult to keep down. He felt ten times sicker by time he was done, but closed his eyes and hoped it would pass.

Erik didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up.

As soon as he opened his eyes he could tell that he felt much better. Maybe not one hundred percent; his brain still felt as if the synapses were being dampened with a wet rag, his mouth was dry and tacky. But compared to how he had felt when he woke up earlier this morning, he was ready to run a fucking marathon.

He gave credit solely to where it was due: not the medication or now-cold broth at the bedside but to the brunet in his arms.

"I thought you couldn't go back to bed once you were up for the day," he murmured, realizing the piece of skin he was murmuring against was the back of Charles' neck, and smiling.

"I'm multi-tasking," Charles chuckled, holding up a huge manuscript tagged here and there with Charles' tilted handwriting in green pen. _He's too gentle to even use a red pen,_ Erik groaned inwardly.

"What's that?" he said out loud.

"Hank's final paper. I told him I'd go over it for him, and now seemed as good a time as any," Charles said, shifting in the loop of Erik's arms to lie on his back, his sweater-clad shoulder pressed up on Erik's chest. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you. What time is it?"

Charles shook his arm free from the covers and checked his wrist watch. "Almost two."

"Damn it," Erik groaned, burying his face against Charles' throat. "I told the kids I'd be in around 12 to check on them."

"Don't you remember? You called them last night to tell them never mind. Although I think your exact words were 'Fuck that. No way. Don't expect me cuz it's not happening'."

Erik pushed up a bit on his arm, just enough to look Charles in the eye to get across his full annoyance.

"Apparently I don't remember most things from last night," he grumbled, and Charles smiled up at him in appeasement, petting his hair back from his forehead.

Erik liked the feel of those cool, thin fingertips on his skin and scalp and lay back down, fully satisfied with his life despite his glaring memory problems.

"What's the last thing you _do_ remember?" Charles asked.

Erik wracked his mind, hoping that he would gain some sliver of vision from their first kiss, or maybe even Charles' soft red lips wrapped around him, but such was not his luck.

"Things are really muddled. I don't have a timeline or anything. I remember having problems working my phone to take a picture of something..."

"You were trying to get a photo of me in Dragneto's wig. You were easily thwarted."

"Who the fuck is Dragneto?"

"She's a drag queen. Really, Erik, she's quite famous in town. I'm surprised at you."

"I don't remember her."

"Seriously? You were quite smitten. I had to physically stop you from going home with her: you said she was your twin and that you were going to live together."

Erik only shook his head in the crook of Charles' shoulder, breathing in the heady professorial scent of his throat. It was necessary to his continued healing that he pretend he hadn't heard that.

"I remember going to the cafe to check up on the kids after drinks...then we went to that other bar and you said you'd match me shot for shot..."

"Actually you challenged me to a drinking contest," Charles corrected. Erik remembered it now: there had been a photo of a drunken-looking Charles above the bar in a crown and robe with a beer-beaker as tall as he was held triumphantly over his head. Charles was the King of the Beer Bong there and Erik had thought to take the title manfully away from him, but failed, and so he had challenged him to a drink-off instead.

"And then Logan showed up and he challenged your title just for shits and giggles and you beat him too! How are you alive today? Why aren't you as hungover as I am? You drank more and weigh less," Erik accused jealously.

"I must have a genetic mutation," Charles cheered.

"I remember you being incredibly drunk. We fell over on the crosswalk."

"Luckily the streets were abandoned by then. Although Logan did have to drag us out of the way of a bicycle deliver boy."

"We were going to swim the fountain," Erik remembered suddenly. There was a giant fountain on campus that students invariably swam when drunk or high. It was a fun-spirited death-trap.

"You said maybe you couldn't beat me at drinking but you were sure you were a better swimmer."

"I bet I am. Did I win?"

"Moira wouldn't let us. She said she'd arrest us if we tried it."

"She was there? I don't remember her."

"She stopped us on our way to the fountain and told us we had to stay off campus or she'd put us in the drunk-tank. She even put you in handcuffs when you kept after the fountain--you don't remember _that_?"

Erik shook his head. But with all Charles' help jogging his memory Erik was gaining a few things back, most of them inconsequential: he remembered trying to punch Logan as hard as he could, square on the jaw, but he had collapsed into laughter half way through, or at least he thought he remembered doing so. Maybe they were two separate memories he was remembering conjoined. He remembered Charles looking at him wide-eyed under a street-lamp and the way the yellow glow had made his face eerie but his eyes lit up with blue. Best of all, though, he remembered standing behind Charles at the front door as the brunet fumbled with his keys, remembered wrapping his arms around the slim waist and pressing his hand hard to the crook of Charles' wishbone legs, the strong pulse of Charles' cock against his palm.

"I remember, I remember," he sighed in the present, sliding his hand there again. "At the door--I remember."

"Ah, yes," Charles said breathlessly, putting his own hand over Erik's under the blankets and pressing harder. "I remember, too."

"Is that why you--when you--?"

"Sucked you off? It was a great catalyst, I'll tell you that," Charles sighed, tensing his hips to rub himself against Erik's hand through his silky slacks.

"So...how was it?" Erik questioned, pressing his lips to Charles' throat, bathed in the warm air there, the soft scratch of Charles' stubble on his temple.

"Do you mean...how was _it_?"

Erik sucked on a patch of skin in response, making Charles gasp.

"It was...very satisfactory. Very satisfying." Erik hummed a pleased noise against Charles' neck and the smaller man pressed Erik's hand even more determinedly against himself, sighing his name.

Raven chose that moment to throw the door open without knocking, and glared at the both of them knowingly when they jumped apart.

"Logan's invited us out to lunch. So stop groping each other and make yourselves presentable enough for an IHOP run."

"Thank you so much, Raven. Now get out," Charles growled, throwing his pen at her.

She rolled her eyes at him and closed the door, but not all the way.

Charles growled aggravatedly in the back of his throat and rolled over so he was on top of Erik, covers tangled and folded halfway between them. He was most of the way towards pressing their lips together when he stopped and pulled back enough to look Erik in the eye.

"Can I?" he asked tentatively, but after a moment Erik shook his head.

This wasn't how he wanted it: a quick and frustrated battle of mouths on the way out the door to deal with Charles' sister for the rest of the day.

Charles sighed but didn't argue, pushed himself off Erik and walked stiffly to the bathroom where Erik could hear water running (probably cold) and muttered swearing.

But when Charles returned he was chipper again. "We should go to lunch--Logan will only drag us about by the scruff of our necks like his ROTC kids if we try to sit it out. Your clothes should be dry by now. I'll go grab them for you."

"Thanks. Could I borrow a T-shirt? I feel trashy wearing all the same clothes as yesterday."

"Feel free," Charles encouraged, motioning to his closet before he left to get the rest of Erik's clothes.

The closet was half racks and half shelves, and Erik found plenty of T-shirts there to choose from even though Charles seemed like more of a button-up kind of guy. He finally chose a plain green shirt that was probably a size too big on Charles but fit him perfectly. For the hell of it he pulled one of Charles' oversized grandpa sweaters over the affair: a pale gray, V-necked ensemble that was very warm and only slightly dorky.

When Charles saw him he tossed down Erik's clothes and gripped Erik by the collar of his sweater before he remembered himself and let loose. "You seriously need to get this second first kiss thing out of the way before I take care of it myself."

Erik agreed.

He had had an image of what his and Charles' first kiss would be like, but the images Charles was offering up were beginning to look good too: maybe not sick and hungover in yesterday's clothes on the couch, but what was wrong with half-dressed groping in Charles' sweater the morning after?

Once Erik got the rest of his clothes on and grabbed his effects (strewn everywhere—literally: he found his wallet behind Charles' desk, his cell phone pinned between the mattress and the headboard), Charles escorted him to the living room. Raven and Logan were already there, standing next to the door deep in conversation. Erik didn't have to guess at what they were discussing, going by the looks on their faces when he and Charles came out of the bedroom together.

Raven looked as if she were developing a way to kill people (specifically, _him_ ) purely by way of glaring, and Logan stared between the two men in absolute shock before mirroring Raven's face. Erik frowned, careful to keep it above a pout: he had thought that Logan liked him. Why did he look so upset now? Erik must have been right: Logan _like_ liked him, and seeing him with someone as unbeatable as Charles was giving him a manly aneurysm.

"I'll get the car. Lensherr, come help me," Logan growled, the sound seeming to come directly from his burly chest rather than his mouth. Erik had rather liked his Shark moniker from Logan, and was nominally saddened that they had reverted to 'Lensherr'. He also had no intention of being alone with someone who looked that murderous. Luckily, Charles seemed to agree.

"Don't be silly, Logan. Let's go," he said as if he couldn't tell that both his sister and his friend apparently wanted to disembowel Erik where he stood.

Logan drove, and Erik purposefully sat behind him, hoping that it would prevent the man from getting into a car accident on Erik's side. Charles beat out Raven for the spot beside him and smiled at him endearingly, even touching his hand tentatively on the seat between them. Erik went to hold his hand back, overwhelmed with how well things were going, when Logan swerved (definitely purposefully) and the tall man was reminded not to push his luck.

He looked out the window and tried to do the mental math of how long he had to be friends or go on dates with Charles before he was allowed to ask the man to be his boyfriend. He had never once in his life asked anyone to be his boyfriend, or his girlfriend, for that matter. In high school a girl had asked to be _his_ girlfriend, and he had shrugged and they had dated for a few weeks, but that was it. Magda had simply informed him that they were dating, and he had gone along with that too. _Three dates,_ he decided randomly. _That's a nice, strong number. Three dates, then I'll ask him._

Erik thought a bit longer, and then decided that last night definitely counted as Date 1, since they had gone out for drinks together and wound up in bed together, which was certainly date behavior as far as Erik could gauge from TV.

 _IHOP counts too_ , Erik added arbitrarily, happy. This was great. One more date and he could ask Charles to be his own...

Logan swerved hard again, glaring at Erik through the rear-view mirror as if he knew exactly what was going on in that seductive little head of his and didn’t approve one little bit.

"Good Lord, Logan, steady on!" Charles chided. Logan just grunted in response.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik gets roughed up.

At the IHOP Erik didn't luck out twice and was forced to sit next to Logan, diagonal from Charles so that he couldn't even gaze adoringly at him. Instead he had to fend off evil glares from his sister. Erik focused on his menu and tried to ignore her. He could almost feel his menu start to melt under her hot gaze.

The waitress must have been truly immune to these things to not call the police for Erik's safety when she came by for their orders.

"Do you want bacon, or sausage?" she sighed lazily to him after he ordered.

"Neither," he replied, gulping down the water she had given him. He could feel Charles' curious gaze on him and when he looked up, sure enough, there it was, those expressive brows clearly reading ‘Tell me more about this’ so Erik explained, "I'm Jewish."

Charles' curious brow cleared immediately into understanding. "I had wondered..."

It took Logan and Raven a couple seconds to work out what may have led Charles to wondering, and then their glares kindled so that Erik could hardly breathe it was so hot in here.

"I'm going to the bathroom." he grumbled, jumping up from the table.

The glaring didn't exactly _frighten_ him, but it was certainly disconcerting. With an empty bladder and some cool water on his face he figured he'd stand up much better to it.

He would have been right if it hadn't been for one unexpected interruption.

As soon as he got into the bathroom the door burst open behind him and Logan rushed him, only stopping long enough to lock the door behind him ( _bad sign, bad sign_ , Erik's mind howled at him) and shoved Erik up against the wall by his shoulders, nearly taking Erik up off the ground in the process.

At first Erik thought the brawny man was going to try to kiss him, and recoiled automatically, but on closer inspection the guy seemed much more likely to rip out his jugular with his bare teeth.

"What the fuck?" they both snarled at each other. Logan didn't respond but slammed Erik up against the wall again--Erik could hear more than he could feel his head clang against the tiles.

"I vouched for you, you fucking scumbag--and now Raven tells me you've got a fucking _girlfriend_?" he shouted.

Erik shook the daze off his mind long enough to shove Logan's fists away from his sweater, _Charles_ ' sweater.

"You psycho idiot--Emma's not my girlfriend, I'm gay!" he shouted back (although that statement was technically not 100% true), and when Logan looked too shocked to put up a fight Erik shoved him by the solar plexus with a sharp elbow. "Who the fuck do you think you are coming after me in a fucking IHOP men's room defending my own boyfriend's honor?"

Logan still wasn't over his amazement, and that only added to it. " _Boyfriend?"_

Erik backed down out of sheer surprise. He hadn't meant to say that. "Fuck--don't tell Charles I said that. I haven't asked him, yet," Erik requested, and then wondered if he should have demanded it, because he was still fucking pissed at Logan.

"But Raven said..."

"Raven's a dolt. I didn't even know she knew about Emma. Charles must have told her, or one of the kids at the cafe..."

"Who's Emma?" Logan growled half-heartedly. He still sounded suspicious, but at least he was no longer obviously homicidal.

"She's my friend from college," Erik bit back.

"Well, fuck," Logan sighed apologetically, running his hand through his thick mane of hair.

"Yeah, fuck, you bastard," Erik menaced, but Logan didn't seem worried about _him_.

"Don't tell Charles. _Please_ don't tell Charles. He doesn't look dangerous, but he would literally kill me..." and the thick man certainly did seem terrified at the idea.

Erik's head still rung where Logan had hit it against the wall, but even with that painful reminder he wasn't ruthless enough to rat Logan out to Charles. The smaller man would definitely decapitate him, or at least castigate him to death, Erik had no doubt. Besides, even if he didn't tell Charles now, he could always blackmail favors out of Logan by threatening to reveal it later...

"I won't say anything, but you've got to explain things to Raven so she'll stop trying to fuck up our shit. I'm hoping that's the only reason she's been bitching out on us..." Erik said, although he suspected it was half because she thought he was cheating on his girlfriend with her brother and half because he had cursed at her in the cafe. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that...

"Dude, _deal_ ," Logan replied in deep relief, shaking hands on it.

When they got back to the table Logan let Erik have his seat so he was sitting across from a worried-looking Charles.

"What took you so long?" he asked suspiciously, looking Erik over as if for visible bruising.

"What, you want a play by play of the bathroom?" Erik teased and Charles smiled easy again, although Erik noticed that the boy was leaving ample space between him and his sister. He guessed they had had a similar discussion out here, but Raven didn't look as convinced as Logan did. Erik might even have to have Emma herself call the uppity wench to explain the situation woman to woman... but Erik didn't know how willing Emma would be to do that when she wanted Erik solely for Steve fucking Rogers and far away from the lovable Brit.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

After lunch Logan brought them all back to the apartment on Morisson and Erik grudgingly admitted that he had to go to work. He had never left the place alone for a full 24-hours before, and he wasn't completely sure the cafe wouldn't be in flames when he got there (even though he undoubtedly would have been able to see the flames from the entryway here).

"I'll walk you back," Charles offered, fingering the cuff of Erik's borrowed sweater sweetly.

"It's two blocks, Charles," Raven huffed. "He's a big boy, he can handle it on his own. If any muggers go after him he can just chew them out with those _shark_ teeth of his."

Charles and Erik both ignored her easily, gazing as they were happily into each other's eyes.

"See you later," Charles said vaguely to Logan and Raven and started his escorting, Erik happily allowing himself to be led. He _didn't_ need help walking the two blocks to the cafe, but damned if he was going to mention that to anyone.

"I'm sorry about my sister," Charles said as they crossed the street.

"I didn't even notice," Erik lied--and it might as well have been the truth for how much Raven's bad attitude was capable of bothering him now, with Charles so close to him.

They reached the back door of the cafe much too soon in Erik's opinion and he held Charles tentatively at the wrists as he said, "Would you maybe want to get dinner with me some time?"

Charles beamed up at him and leaned closer, although he didn't try to kiss him.

"I'd love that."

And somehow, hearing Charles use the word ‘love’, so warm and close to him, so bright and blue-eyed, Erik couldn't stop himself, even if he had truly wanted to stop himself.

He released the slim wrists and slid his hands forward to Charles' waist, leaned down, and kissed him softly on the mouth. Charles responded immediately, his hands cool but not cold on Erik's throat and jaw, his deeply pink lips plying open Erik's mouth, deepening their kiss with easy practice, as if this weren't their first kiss but their hundredth.

When Erik held him tighter, pressed together from chest to knee, Charles let him, even hummed softly into him with pleasure.

Erik wasn't sure how long they had been like that when they broke for breath, foreheads pressed together still, breathing each other's air. He was glad he didn't have to be self-conscious about smelling sickly still. He was glad that this moment had come at last, perfectly, when it was supposed to. He was just _glad_.

"That was an excellent first kiss," Charles sighed, breath hot on Erik's saliva-slick lips. "Let's do it again tomorrow."

"Let's do it again right now," Erik insisted, and leaned forward another half an inch to kiss him anew, very softly and very slowly.

They only broke apart again when someone shouted.

"Oi!" Looking up, Az was glaring at them from the sidewalk. He was obviously on his way home from work, bundled up in his wool jacket and scarf, face as red as ever. "What's this then?"

" _What the fuck does it look like?_ Now keep walking: it costs money to watch!" Erik growled at him and Charles collapsed against his shoulder to laugh. Az rolled his eyes, but continued walking, taking out his cellphone--undoubtedly to call Emma and tell her the terrible news.

Charles, meanwhile, grinned at him smittenly and kissed him goodbye a few times.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik gets voicemails and a stern talking-to.

Angel and Hank were on duty, and the girl frowned at him knowingly when Erik walked in smiling. Hank just stared, one finger pointing rudely at his borrowed sweater when he took off his jacket.

"Is that...are you..." but then he stopped stammering, shaking his head. “I'm sure I don't want to know."

"I'm sure you don't," Erik said cheerfully. "I'll be in the back with the books. You kids keep up the good work."

"Try not to be so obvious," Angel sighed. Erik would ask what he was being obvious about, but he didn't care.

In fact, he was in such high spirits that he didn't even snarl when Angel interrupted his book-loving not ten minutes later, bearing the phone with mild trepidation.

"It's Miss Frost," she said, her hand over the mouthpiece, eyeing him questioningly. Erik smiled, knowing that Angel would hang up on her if he told her to.

"Give it here," he said instead, extending his arm for it.

" _WHAT THE HELL_ ," Emma shouted at him immediately. He shouldn't have been so optimistic: he should have had Angel block her number. "Why aren't you answering my calls? Did you really think you'd be able to escape me?"

"What are you talking about, my phone's right here and it hasn't gone off all day," Erik growled back, pulling it out of his pocket. The screen stayed black though, and when he tried to turn it back on it gave him a feeble red battery light before switching off again. "Okay, my phone died. So, you've got me on the line now: what do you want?"

"Azazel called me."

"I just bet he did."

"He says you're boning the dorky professor."

"I wish. I'm _courting_ the dorky professor at the moment. Boning is hopefully imminent."

"Erik," Emma growled.

"I don't understand why you're so shocked. I made it very obvious what my plans were," Erik mused, re-counting the deposit bag from yesterday as he spoke.

"Yes but you assured me you weren't rushing into anything! Your exact words were 'It's not like we're getting married tomorrow'. You've only known the guy two weeks and you're already dating him?"

"Courting him," Erik corrected in a bored voice. Close enough, really. Once their little dinner date rolled around Erik had every intention of dating the brunet.

"Why are you taking this so fast? What's wrong?" Emma asked seriously.

"What are you talking about, 'what's wrong'?" he stopped counting to ask with much exasperation.

"You're rushing into this for some reason."

Erik rolled his eyes. How to explain this so that Emma understood?

"If you met someone like Charles you'd be sure to snap him up quick, too," he said. "The fact that no one else is dating him at this exact moment boggles my mind. It's a complete and utter miracle, and I'm not going to spend two months dilly-dallying around trying to figure out if I want what I already know I want."

"How can you be so sure you want to date this complete dweeb when you haven't even explored the other options?"

"Charles likes me and I like Charles, and that's the only option I want to explore," he huffed back, getting angry now. "I'm going to date him, Emma. You're not going to stop me. If you're so sure this thing is going to fall through then just wait it out."

And he hung up on her.

And went to dial Charles' phone number to cheer himself up. Then he realized that Charles' phone number was in his cell phone. His dead cell phone.

Frowning heavily, he went back to work in a much darker mood than he had been in just a few minutes ago.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was ten before he got home and plugged his phone in to charge. Luckily, he could use the phone _while_ it was charging, so he turned it on, and was immediately met with copious beeping as every text and voicemail from the last 24-hours came bursting in noisily.

Erik could only stare in amazement: no one had ever tried so hard to get a hold of him. He normally got about one text or call a day, tops, and those were invariably work-related.

At first he was flattered, thinking it was Charles trying to reach him, but then he saw that the first ID tag was someone saved as Lgan Wolfrinee. Must be Logan, but he didn't understand where the last name came from...The list of his missed texts were much the same, one after another: Lgan, Lgan, Lgan. His missed calls were more varied: Charles, Lgan, Emma, Az, even a missed call from _himself_. Erik hadn't even known his phone could _do_ that.

Erik was daunted, but sighed and started flipping through his texts. Most of them were apparently pictures. This could in no way be good, and yet Erik couldn't help but look.

He didn't know how to take it, really.

In the first photo, he and Charles were definitely, completely drunk off their asses. Sporting huge matching grins, they flipped off the camera happily, bottles of beer gripped proudly in their free hands outside the gas station up the street. Erik didn't remember that, and Charles had never mentioned it. He suspected the other man's memory wasn't as pristine as he had let on.

It didn't get much better from there. Logan had apparently been on a mission to put every ridiculous, drunken escapade of theirs down in pixelated history.

Here they were pretending (or maybe not pretending...) to steal a pizza delivery moped. Another image showed Erik in what appeared to be a glossy red wig with Charles draped swooningly over his shoulders and a bald drag queen kissing him passionately on the cheek. There was the picture of them collapsed on the crosswalk in hysterics, Erik's face fully taken up with a Cheshire grin. He had somehow never looked sharkier, so that he wondered if it should be renamed the Cheshire Shark rather than Cat. Then there was Erik bent over a police car, Moira shouting at the camera as she cuffed him. The next image was part of Moira's angry eye, and the rest Charles stealing her keys, followed by Charles trying to drunkenly bust Erik loose before Moira could notice.

It all made Erik nervous to listen to the voicemails.

The damned automated voice made it all sound too normal, not properly building up to the shitshow this was going to be. He recognized the first number she read out as his own and grimaced. Nothing good could come from a drunken call to himself. He contemplated deleting it on the spot but then sighed. Five seconds. If it was five seconds worth of ridiculousness he would delete it.

But the first thing he heard from the phone wasn't blaring club music or shouting drunkeness or even alcoholic giggling. He heard moaning. He heard _himself moaning_.

"Your mouth, your _mouth_ , your _mouth_ your _mouth_ ," his drunken self kept gasping and groaning, noticeably drunk even in this short excerpt.

"Erik, you don'need your phone fuhthis. Putchyur phone away."--that was Charles, panting and slurring.

There was muffled grappling, and Charles' voice was closer now. "Er'k, didjou call...i'zzis you? Did you call _you_?"

Erik swallowed and listened to his other self groan rather than reply.

There was a throaty laugh, and when it came back, Charles' voice went straight to Erik's cock. "Hullo, Erik. I'm going to suck your lovely cock now. Would you like to stay and listen?"

Erik couldn't help himself: he put his hand instinctively to his pants and worked himself free. He was amazed to find that he was already more than half hard, just from listening to the man that _would_ be his boyfriend (even if he had to bribe high-ranking celestial officials for it).

He abjectly refused to think about what he was doing here, sitting in his living room at ten thirty at night, phone clutched to his ear like a lifeline. A slutty, slutty lifeline.

Phone-Charles chuckled again and Erik spit into his hand to get things going. He had never been jealous of him _self_ before, but damn he certainly was now: his other self cried out, and he didn't have to imagine what he was crying out _at_. The debauched sounds of Charles' mouth on him came through loud and clear.

There was a full six minutes of this and when the automated lady's voice cut back in, _just_ as his phone-self was obviously about to completely _lose it_ , Erik had to stifle a frustrated keen. He kept his right hand firmly at work, _so-close,so-close,_ and replayed the message.

At the repeated mention of his 'lovely cock' the thing seemed to go off out of pure flattery, gushing creamy whiteness as Erik continued to thrust up into his tight fist, free hand clutching the phone till he thought it'd crack.

Panting, sweating, fully wrung out, Erik quickly saved the message and tossed his phone away before he could be tempted further. It was going to be a dangerous thing, having that message a few clicks away at all times. He could only hope that having the actual, physical brunet in his bed every night would eventually lessen the message's already addictive power over him.

And then the phone went off. Erik checked the ID even though he was completely sure he was going to ignore it, and saw it was Charles.

He glanced nervously between his bared cock, his wet hand, and his phone, then groaned and snatched the damn thing up.

"Hello?" he asked, and realized that his breathing wasn't completely back to normal yet.

"Hello, Erik? It's Charles," the brunet sounded cheerful and absolutely _clueless_ to the fact that some guy had just been using his voice to jack off to. Erik discovered that intense blushing affected his braincells in a rather negative way.

"Hi," he said, clearing his throat.

"Are you okay? You sound strange."

"Uh-huh," Erik muttered. "I mean, I'm fine."

"Okay, well I just wanted to tell you that...well that I had a really good time, or, no, I'm sorry--I'm sorry, I actually called to tell you _sorry_ about all that, um...I mean I _did_ have a good time, not that I _didn't_ have a good time..."

Charles was seriously struggling here, and that made Erik laugh accidentally. He recovered, and added mercifully:

"I had a good time too. You don't have to apologize for anything."

Charles chuckled, but that brought too many sordid memories so Erik had to clear his throat again to block it out.

"Sooo," Charles hummed. "Dinner."

"Yes."

"Where do you want me to take you?"

" _You're_ not taking _me_ anywhere. You can pick where _I'm_ taking _you_."

"Okay," Charles laughed and his next words came out low and rather gravelly. "Where do you want to take me?

Erik struggled for his answer to come out as anything but 'To my bedroom.'

He cleared his throat. "Um, can I call you right back?"

"Pardon?" Charles asked in surprise.

"I just...there's something...it'll only take a second," Erik babbled, eyeing his sticky hand. A few moments on the phone in his state he could manage, but to have a full conversation with Charles he was going to have to wash up. And tuck himself away.

"Oh, yes, excuse me--I should probably get to bed, anyway."

"No, you shouldn't," Erik insisted. "Five seconds. No, okay, _ten_. I swear."

"All--all right," Charles laughed, and hung up. Erik sprinted to the kitchen sink and scrubbed himself clean, tucked himself back into his pants, and dialed Charles up again before he was dry.

"You're late," was how Charles answered the phone.

"I was too optimistic, I guess. It's my constant downfall." Charles laughed again and the sound was so clear and bright that Erik couldn't help smiling himself. He cheeks hurt from smiling so wide so often these days. He was going to have to whip these muscles into fighting shape if he was really going to date the professor, and he fully meant to.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik goes on a date.

They set dinner up for Friday, and Erik insisted on being the gentleman. He'd pick Charles up, he'd drive them over, and dammit, he'd buy dinner. Once glance at his bank statement was enough to tell that somehow or other the brunet had managed to pay for all of their drinks last week.

In the meantime, Erik made sure to get all of his cafe-work out of the way for the weekend. Vendors, landlords, employees: if there was something that needed doing it was going to have to get done now because by this weekend he was either going to be a boyfriend or a miserable fiend. He didn't want to hedge his bets on which one it would be.

Charles seemed to like him; hell, Charles, for some reason, seemed to _really_ like him (although Erik wasn't sure how much of that was true affection and how much of it was Charles' naturally inclusive nature). Still, he wasn't certain enough to think that just because a guy seemed to like him that that meant the guy would want to _date_ him. He had been with a lot more guys than he had ever dated. Some people just weren't the dating type. Erik had never really been comfortable labeling _himself_ as the dating type for that matter.

He had only ever dated three men (four if you counted that kid from college who certainly thought of Erik as his boyfriend although Erik hadn't ever returned the estimation), and none of those had ever lasted over three months. The only thing that separated them from the men he occasionally slept with was that he slept with them a lot more continuously. It just seemed to be the type of guy he attracted: he was unaffectionate and anti-social and the men willing to date him were generally similar. They were ships passing in the night. Ships that had sex. And then didn't talk for three days. And then had sex again, maybe, if neither of them were too busy.

Charles was something new. Charles was something amazing. Charles was something that _looked damned good in a navy blue pin-striped suit_.

It was Friday night at last and when Charles answered the door Erik had to swallow hard to avoid drooling all over himself.

He had thought the man looked good with his sweaters...suits were a class all their own on the hotness-scale of this young man, and Erik was going to have fun filling in the rest of the scale once they were hopefully dating.

"Hello, dear," Charles greeted, pulling him inside and kissing his cheek. The younger man smelled just as good as he looked.

Erik's body was thrumming too much for him to speak; if he tried to force out sound he knew he'd just get some kind of pitchy, keening noise.

"I'll just get my jacket and I'm ready."

Erik nodded, rubbing his throat to try to massage his vocal chords into working.

"You look edible," he managed. He had been too focused on getting words out to plan _which_ words would be coming out. " _Indelible_ ," he corrected, and wasn't even sure if that was what he had meant to say in the first place or just a good cover-up.

Charles stared at him a second, but he looked more flattered than freaked. Erik was lucky the man always took his compliments in the most non-creepy light.

"Thank you, my friend! You're nothing to scoff at yourself," he said, coming close and kissing Erik softly on the mouth. He had probably meant it to be quick, but Erik's arms were incapable of having him so close and _not_ wrapping around him. The taller man only broke the kiss to breathe him in deeply, drunk on the feeling of Charles' taut body under his hands.

"Are you wearing cologne?" he murmured. Charles nodded and looked up at him, his eyes lit up by the entry-way light. Erik thought there was some design in the fluctuations of blue there, but he didn't have enough time to study them then and there.

"Is that okay?" Charles questioned, his minty breath warm on Erik's skin. "Are you allergic?"

"No, why did you think I was allergic?" Erik snorted. Charles smiled--Erik realized anew how deeply pink his lips were--and reached up to press his knuckles to Erik's overheated cheeks.

"You're flushed."

Erik just smiled. "That has nothing to do with allergies."

Charles' cheeks went rosy with a blush and Erik's smile took on a teasing tilt. "Are you allergic now?" he asked, and Charles twisted away gently, laughing.

"I guess I am. Let's get out of here before it gets any worse." Erik glanced around the living room as Charles put his jacket on.

"Raven not home?"

"No she's at a rally."

"What kind of rally?" Hopefully not a future-in-law-murdering rally.

"I'm not sure. It's one of her feminist school assignments. She likes to keep me in the dark about things like that. I have too much testosterone to be trusted," Charles laughed and Erik was surprised when his hand was suddenly being held.

Surprised but by no means displeased. "Ready?" the brunet asked, eyes so lit up and intoxicating.

Erik smiled and nodded, his skin tingling and his heart bubbling up in his chest like a spring as they walked out the door hand in hand.

The restaurant was nice without being too over the top. There were candles on every table, but they weren't the only lighting. There were real cloth tablecloths, and heavy silverware, but it was clear these things weren't bought at Crate&Barrel. Charles had been there before but Erik never had, and neither of them minded that in the least.

After Charles finished chatting over-long with the hostess, they were brought to a quiet table near the windows, away from the hubbub of the other diners.

"I thought I was special," Erik commented teasingly, but by Charles' furrowed brows, he didn't understand what Erik was referring to. So the taller man gestured back to the hostess and continued. "I thought I was the only customer service worker you were so chatty with."

Charles broke into another smile, which looked much better on him.

 "I can't promise you'll be the only worker I chat up, but I do promise not to get anyone else blindingly drunk, drag them home and suck them off."

Erik promptly choked on his water.

Besides that, dinner was extremely comfortable.

Over pasta and wine, watching Charles' candle-lit eyes, the twist of his hands that he used overly-much to explain things, the flash of his tongue as he licked his lips during every grasp for words, Erik realized there was not one single apparent reason _not_ to ask Charles to be his boyfriend. Besides the fact that he had never done this before and was therefore instinctively distrustful of the process.

"Charles," he coughed out, important organs blocking his throat. The blue eyes, suddenly intent on him, weren't helping matters. But he was just going to have to man up and get over that. If he was going to date the man he couldn't let those blue eyes distract him into silence every time there was an important conversation to be had.

"Would you..." yet this direct tactic was too daunting. He tried a stealthier avenue. "How would you feel if I asked you to be my boyfriend?"

Charles had to put down his utensils he was so surprised. He took his time, taking a sip of water, but the extra moments didn't manage to clear his brow of bewilderment.

"I would feel very confused," he said finally, glancing at Erik. "I...I'm sorry but I...I rather thought I already _was_ your boyfriend..."

Erik beamed he was so happy, but he had to stop it immediately as Charles was wringing his napkin miserably.

"I'm sorry," Erik said, reaching across the table to stop Charles' fiddling fingers. "I'm no good at this dating thing. I was under the impression I had to give you a written invitation or something. Charles--will you date me, even though this sort of embarrassing dating faux-pas is going to happen more frequently than will be fun?"

A smile tried to tug at Charles' mouth, but the man was resisting it. Erik hadn't even known the professor _had_ the kind of will power to resist smiles: he'd certainly never tried it before. Erik was worried for a second, until Charles turned his hand so that he was holding Erik's.

"It's going to take more than misunderstandings to get rid of me at this point, Mr. Lensherr," he grinned across the table. Erik smiled back at him and held his hand tighter.

"You joke, but I'm going to put that statement to the test," Erik tried to warn him.

Charles just caressed his palm and smiled at him gently, and then mercifully changed the subject.

"Wait, wait, wait," Charles balked halfway into their new discussion. "Are you telling me that you've _never_ seen Casablanca? Like, _the_ Casablanca. You've _never_ seen it."

Erik finished the rest of his wine shaking his head.

"We have to put this travesty to rights," Charles gasped solemnly.

"I'm free if you are," Erik grinned back at him. Some new light seemed to come to Charles' bright blue eyes.

"Are you sure? Don't you have work in the morning?"

"After what happened on our first date I thought it was a good idea to clear my schedule," he answered ruefully.

"That's rather unfortunate: I was going to offer up a sleepover to shorten your commute to work in the morning," Charles said and his grin was sexily teasing. Erik swept his hand around desperately for his water and gulped it down so he'd be able to think clearly enough for his next sentence.

"Well," he managed to murmur back almost casually. "We'll just have to get me blindingly drunk again so that that offer is back on the table."

Charles' beaming smile informed him that that was an allowable idea, and Erik forced his hand into steadiness in order to call for the check.

"Let me," Charles insisted, getting his wallet.

"I don’t think so," Erik scoffed. "I looked at my bank statement and saw that raw trick you pulled with our drinks last week. I was too drunk to keep you from paying my tabs then, but I'm not so far gone now." And with that he pressed his card onto the waiter, glaring down Charles' wallet till he reluctantly put it away.

Erik was so used to clamping down on his urges to touch Charles that it was strange to give them free range now, as they walked back to the car.

"That went a lot easier than I thought it was going to," Erik realized aloud, his arm around Charles' shoulders.

"What did?"

"Asking you to date me."

Charles eyed from under mockingly furrowed brows. "Are you calling me easy, Mr. Lensherr?"

Erik had absolutely no clue how to answer that so he just smiled and kissed Charles on the temple.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which jealousy of a couch would be understandable.

The apartment was still dark when they got back, and they both held their breath at the entrance, listening. Not a sound.

"I guess Raven's not back yet," Charles whispered as they walked in.

"I guess not," Erik agreed, but led the way into the living room on the lookout just in case, imagining Raven sitting in the corner in the dark with steepled fingers just waiting to catch them sneaking in together.

But there was nothing. He guessed she really wasn't home. His smile about broke his face.

He wondered how long he had to put in watching Casablanca before he was allowed to get down to actual important business. Like doing the sorts of things to Charles he would actually remember in the morning.

"You put the movie in, I'll get us some wine," Charles said before heading to the kitchen. Erik wondered, if he were to hide the film, what would happen. Would Charles promptly give up all pretenses and make out with him? He decided to put his hypothesis to the test.

Casablanca was easy to find: the whole DVD cabinet was alphabetized. Erik glanced around to make sure Charles hadn’t snuck up on him and shoved the case under the DVD player, as far back as he could get it.

"I can't find it," he said when Charles came out with two glasses of red. Charles looked quizzical, but not suspicious.

"That's strange," he said, scanning the shelves. "It's usually right here..." he fingered the blank space where his beloved movie had been. "Maybe Raven borrowed it...I know it's around here somewhere."

Damn, Erik frowned. Would the man just ignore him to search for his favorite movie for the rest of the night? Maybe this was a mistake.

"You look around the shelves, I'll search around the DVD player. We'll find it," Erik said confidently, and when Charles' back was turned he lifted up the player to fish the movie back out. "Here it is--it was under the player."

Charles sighed in relief but eyed the hiding place with a frown. "Curiouser and curiouser. What on Earth was it doing under there?"

Erik shrugged and kept his focus on the TV and its components so Charles couldn’t try and read deceit off his face. He wasn’t sure how literate Charles was in the language of deceit but he didn’t want to test him.

As the score started up, Erik sat back on the couch and accepted the wineglass Charles pressed into his hand contentedly. He accepted a near lapful of brunet with something more than contentment as Charles sat down partly next to him and partly on top of him on the couch.

He finished his drink in record time in order to put the glass away and wrap both arms securely around his boyfriend.

_Holy shit, this is your boyfriend. You're dating him._

Charles didn’t bother chugging his wine, just put the cup on the coffee table and leaned heavily into Erik so all the tall man had to do was lean with it for them to find themselves lying down on the couch together. By time Ilsa was bearing her sob story to Rick, Erik and Charles were fitted together like spoons in a drawer. The delicious weight of the smaller man lying half on top of him was surprisingly lovely, and Erik was marveling at the joy that fingers in his hair could bring him.

Then he wasn't even capable of marveling anymore, his brain was so on fire with the fact that _Charles was kissing his neck._

The brunet immediately stopped, maybe worried about the fact that Erik had definitely stopped breathing, pulling back to look Erik in the eye and make sure he was still alive.

Seeing that he was very much alive, just paralyzed with pleasure, the man smiled mischievously, and leaned forward again, pushing Erik's lips apart with his mouth before licking his way inside, tilting his head slightly and kissing him slow and thorough. Before Erik even thought to do it, his hands started roaming over the smaller man, from his sweet pin-striped backside all the way up to his soft brown curls and everywhere in between.

Charles groaned into his mouth and deftly maneuvered himself so he was heavy between Erik's legs, his hand hot and pressing hard from Erik's knee all the way up the back of Erik's thigh until it was gripping his arse. Which somehow made Erik's hips twist by reflex, and he ground himself upward into Charles' perfectly positioned body. Once he started he couldn’t stop, flexing his hips up into the man in tandem with Charles’ hot forays into his mouth.

Long before Charles got around to undoing his belt, he was a gasping, groaning, hyperventilating mess, and this, coupled with the copious amounts of wine he had had this evening, forced him to hold Charles still for a moment to catch his breath before he passed out.

"What's wrong?" Charles panted, his soft British voice thick with want and not making things any easier for Erik. "Am I moving too fast?"

Erik gulped hard and shook his head. "No, no," he gasped.

Charles smiled at him, his teeth glinting in the light of the TV, and sat up a bit. He slid his hands up Erik's turtleneck, sweeping it off him in one expert jerk. Erik knew his hair must be a mess but just really didn't give a damn. He pulled Charles back on top of him and yanked the man’s dress-shirt out of its tuck, shoving his hands up over the bare back, and feeling the coiling of Charles' muscles as the brunet ground down into him.

That devilish hand was back, and had just managed to get Erik's pants undone with copious groping involved when there was a muffled jingle of keys. A _definite_ jingle of keys.

They both stilled, staring at each other for a moment before Charles sat up a bit to glare at the door over the back of the couch.

"She can't...she _wouldn't_ ," he whispered to himself.

But apparently she could and _would_ , because Raven threw the door open with a loud flourish, hand securely over her eyes.

"Get off each other and make yourselves decent!" she shouted. "This hand is coming down in two seconds and I don't want to be traumatized by witnessing jerks all up on my brother."

Erik rolled to snatch up his shirt from the floor as Charles knelt up to scream at his sister.

"Goddamn it, Raven-- _what are you doing here_?"

Raven dropped her hand in a bored manner and Erik made a run for it to Charles' bedroom, shutting the door behind him securely. Even the shock of this moment wasn't able to abate his erection, and he didn't want to deal with that and Raven at the same time. Or even in the same building, really.

He put his shirt on and went into the bathroom, looking at his state with concern. He hadn't had to deal with this in any way but the natural since high school. Somehow he didn't think it would be good form to work this out the natural way while his boyfriend was having a blow-out fight with his sister in the next room.

So he took some deep breaths, made good use of cold water, and, when that was taken care of, set his hair to rights, shoving the loose strands backwards over his skull. He frowned at his reflection and snorted out a breath. He did not want to do what he was about to do, but the girl had left him no choice.

Logan had done his best, Erik was sure: the man had seemed genuinely upset when he had texted Erik a few days ago to tell him that Raven flatout refused to give up her hate campaign. _She believes me that ur not dating E. She just refuses 2 stop hating u._ the man had informed him. _I did try. Pls pls pls don't tell charles about ihop. PLS._ Erik had grit his teeth at the time and had not snitched Logan out to Charles, turning to hope rather than revenge. Maybe Raven would continue to hate him but stay out of his way when it came to seducing her brother.

Judging by tonight, hope was as unfounded as he had always suspected. And so Erik would have to take matters into his own hands and tell fate to fuck off, as per usual.

"I texted you! I _told_ you-" Charles was arguing hotly when Erik re-entered the living room, looking fully as if he had not just been walked in on while getting off on a couch with a hot professor.

"I don't have to stay away from home just so you can get it on with the human saw-tooth blade!" Raven interrupted back in a shout.

" _You,_ " Erik growled in a voice so full of authority that the both of them clammed up in surprise. "Get your keys. We're going out." They looked between each other, so Erik pointed at Raven harshly. " _You_."

Raven tried to scoff, but it was a hard thing to manage when he was staring her down in such a manner.

"Please! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Get 'em or leave 'em, I don't care, but you _are_ going."

Raven looked stubborn, but then she seemed to realize that turning him down would mean she was afraid of being alone with him. Which she was not.

"You better bring me someplace without noise restrictions because you're going to get an earful," she hissed at him, and yanked her keys out of the door knob before storming off to the street.

Charles looked between them nervously. He was pissed at his sister, but that apparently didn't mean he wanted his boyfriend to kill her.

"Don't worry," he assured, rubbing Charles' shoulders. "I'll return her in one piece."

"I wouldn't mind if there were a few pieces missing," Charles grumbled.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven and Erik have a heart-to-heart, assuming they have such organs.

Outside, Erik led Raven stiffly to the one place it was impossible to stay mad in: the German restaurant-bar on the Drive. Between here and there he would just have to watch her carefully and make sure she didn’t try to assassinate him.

Everyone knew him there so it was easy to get a seat, despite the mass of people. It helped that the owner loved talking German with him. A brute from Munich, he never got over Erik’s accent, peculiarized by years abroad.

Erik ordered two of the best beers on tap and then stared across the table at the sullen girl trying to murder him with pure will-power. He balled his fists determinedly.

"You and I, we're going to be friends," he said.

This seemed to shock her out of glaring.

"How on _Earth_ do you figure that?" she recovered enough to spit.

Erik took a long gulp of beer and pressed his palms into the table to remain steady.

"Because we're both crazy about Charles," he said, certain.

She remained tight-lipped and sour despite the sacrifice it had taken him to say that out loud to another human being. Apparently, Raven was unimpressed with his confession. "Everyone's crazy about him. It's impossible to _not_ be crazy about him."

"We're both crazier about him than those amateurs," Erik assured, and he thought Raven almost cracked a smile over that. But then she was right back to glaring.

"You're an asshole. He's already dated an asshole. Two of them, actually. He doesn't need another one."

Erik nodded understandingly. "I _am_ an asshole. I'll be the first to admit it. Hell, I’m pretty proud of the elite _level_ of asshole I have attained. But I'm not an asshole to him, and I never will be. And you're related to him, so I'll never be an asshole to you, either."

Raven eyed him carefully and started sipping her beer. This was a good sign to Erik.

"You're saying all the right words, but words don't mean anything."

"Shall we put it in a contract? I'm an exacting businessman: I never go back on a contract."

She put her elbow on the table, hand poised to shake.

"If you ever hurt him, I get free reign in what I do to you. And you will not call the police about it."

"Agreed," Erik said easily. If he ever hurt Charles he would only be fit for annihilation anyway. He went to shake, but Raven pulled her hand back in order to spit into it first. Erik wrinkled his nose, but did the same to his hand. They both grimaced when they shook, and quickly fled to the bathrooms to wash.

"You realize," Raven started up seriously when they had recovered. "If you ever _did_ hurt Charles I'd be only part of your worries...Logan, Moira, the TAs...I mean, it's impossible to love Charles and not be willing to murder ex-boyfriends on his behalf. He just sort of engenders wild loyalty."

"I'm well aware. Speaking of which, I'm going to be needing the names and addresses of those assholes he dated before," Erik requested menacingly. Raven actually burst out with a laugh, requiring even Erik to smile.

"I was wondering..." Erik said after a while. "Why didn't you ever tell Charles about the cafe? About me cursing you out?"

"I was all set to," Raven said bitterly, glaring into her beer. "But then he told me you had a girlfriend, so I thought he was safe from you without me whining about that. I still have to pay you back for that, by the way."

Erik grimaced. "Trust me, after tonight, you're all paid up."

Raven laughed again and nodded happily. "Yeah I guess I am."

She got a text then and smiled at it. "Charles wants to know if I'm okay."

Erik grinned mischievously. "Don't reply," he suggested, pulling out his own cell phone.

 _Everything's taken care of. I even saved you some pieces like you asked. Do you know someplace the police won't find the leftovers?_ he sent, showing Raven, who chuckled politely.

They walked back easily together after a couple more beers, Raven even going so far as to wrap her arms around his elbow for support. Good German beer was capable of that. No one could remain enemies after a couple good German beers.

"You know," she murmured to him. "He's just a guy. He's not some angel doing missionary work away from heaven or anything. He thinks he knows better for you than you do, and he thinks his way is always the best way to do anything, and he definitely thinks he's smarter than you, no matter what. It's going to get aggravating once this high of yours wears off."

"I don't think so," Erik grinned back gently.

"Well, if you're wrong, you're allowed to dump him. He's been dumped before, that's not so bad. He can get over that. But anything else and I'll castrate you. I mean, literally, really, actually castrate you. And I have no idea how to do that. So I'll inevitably mess it up. Which will be worse."

"And I won't call the cops," Erik agreed. He was going to have to come up with some kind of escape plan in the event he broke up with Charles. Because he in no way thought that Raven wouldn't count breaking up with him as hurting him, no matter what she said after three German beers. And even if he would only be fit for corpse-hood should he ever break up with Charles, he wanted to be an _intact_ corpse.

Charles met them at the door with a smile of rueful condemnation.

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" he called out when he saw Raven.

"I'm not a ghost, and you're a lousy Hamlet," she growled back.

"I said to leave out a couple pieces--I thought you'd start with her smart mouth," Charles frowned at Erik.

"She wouldn't be a proper woman without a smart mouth," Erik replied, finally getting close enough to kiss Charles on the cheek and herd him back inside where it was properly warm.

"Oh my god--you're sexist, aren't you? My brother is dating a sexist asshole," she lamented.

"Sexism implies that women are worse than men. I'm only implying that women are just as bad as men," Erik corrected before turning back to Charles. "Sorry we took so long. Did you manage to keep yourself entertained?"

"Luckily I had Bogart around to keep me company," Charles shrugged, wrapping his arms happily around Erik's waist.

"Yuck. I'm out of here. Don't do anything loud," Raven said, wrinkling her nose and stumbling upstairs.

Charles smiled and leaned up to kiss Erik on the mouth, but pulled back after only a second, eyeing Erik with confusion.

“Did you have beer?”

“Yeah,” Erik admitted, concerned when Charles’ face went sympathetic.

“You are going to be one sick pup in the morning,” he lamented.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Erik awoke, one sick pup. He tried to keep his groaning to a minimum as he stuck out a hand for the Gatorade and extra-strength pain pills Charles had laid out for him last night. The man was horrifyingly psychic: despite Erik's loud insistence last night that mixing beer and wine would in no way impede him, Charles had indeed been right. And Erik had once again been...less right.

His mouth was dry and bitter-tasting and the room was too bright and loud and colorful for his brain to manage. He closed his eyes and turned over to get another armful of brunet, the one sure hangover cure.

"How do you feel?" Charles' sweet British lilt sounded in his hair.

"Like a sick pup," he murmured back. "But I don't think I'll ever be able to call anything lesser than last week's madness a real hangover ever again."

"So some good did come of it, then," Charles teased.

"What time is it?" Erik sighed, burrowing his face into Charles' throat. The man tilted his chin up to give him more room and starting running his fingers through Erik's mussed hair again. If he were capable of it in his headachey state, Erik would have been purring. No doubt about it.

"Almost nine. I have to get up soon."

"What? Why?" Erik questioned, alert at once in his displeasure.

"I have a committee meeting at ten. I'll be busy afterwards too: we have to start writing the final exam questions for next month."

Erik did not whine. He would not allow himself to. He did not say that this was his first full day of being Charles' boyfriend and, hangover be damned, he was going to enjoy his new boyfriend rights. He also elected to not announce that Charles would have to pry Erik's cold dead fingers off him before he could even hope to get out of this freaking bed. He did not choose to say anything as terrifyingly determined as that.

Instead, he simply said: "Next weekend, you're mine."

"...Actually..." Charles started slowly, and Erik could already tell he was not going to like this. "Next weekend I have to go to a conference in Metropolis...I'm kind of in charge of presenting our study for the University..."

Erik pulled his head away from Charles' neck and shoved it under a pillow, trying to suffocate himself.

"I'm sorry!" Charles wailed, though, so he stopped being so melodramatic.

"That's okay. I plan on being with you for a while, so I guess there'll be other weekends," he said manfully.

Charles smiled down at him, those big blue eyes making that optimistic sentence seem mostly worth saying.

"You could always...come over tonight..." Charles suggested, and Erik smiled until he remembered.

"Fuck."

"Well, I wouldn't turn you down."

" _Ha ha_. It's just...I can't. Tonight. I...well it's dumb but I have to call my mom."

It sounded ten times more ridiculous than it actually was, so that Erik actually stared up at Charles in blushing shock at how silly it was.

"That was weird. I mean...she lives in Germany, and so with the time difference...and I don't do it all the time or anything, just every other weekend...this is weird. Is this weird?"

Charles laughed and leaned down to kiss him into silence.

"It's not weird. Or, rather, it's only slightly weird. In a sweet way. Like a guy who gives flowers to strangers kind of weird. Don't worry, I won't make you cancel your date with Mummy."

"Mutti," Erik corrected and Charles laughed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Skype is a miracle and Erik's teeth threaten to fall out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone leaving such sweet comments! You sure know how to make a girl blush!

Erik had a long-standing ritual when it came to calling home. He had done this every other Saturday for over seven years. It was a hard habit to break.

Saturday afternoon he'd go into the cafe and work the closing shift until midnight. When the bells of the church up the road rang out the time, he'd start shoving people out of the cafe and lock the door behind them. Then he'd put up the closed sign (he'd cut off the 'Sorry' part of it years ago), snap the curtains into place, make himself a huge latte with enough caffeine to kill a lesser man, and start cleaning up.

He generally got done around 12:30, and then drove home to change into a nice shirt for his mother, brush his hair, and dig out his yarmulke.

He was a Jew by culture rather than by religion and so had no vested interest in his yarmulke other than by the fact that it made his mother happy and was a part of his heritage. Erik wasn’t even really sure what the religious significance of his yarmulke was even though Hebrew school had undoubtedly informed him of it. The fact was, Hebrew school had informed him of a lot of things he had pushed from his mind due to unimportance.

Still, he couldn’t count those years as a complete waste of time since they had taught him Hebrew, which he loved, and gave him a cultural history of his people which was all-encompassing and thorough. That the school and the synagogue and his family also tried to instill in him a love and healthy fear of G-d was tiresome but easily ignored, like the rabbi who tried to stop him from doing his maths homework when he was supposed to be studying the Talmud.

So he dragged out the yarmulke from his sock drawer and tried to make it look less crumpled and pinned it to his hair, purely out of affection for his mother and his upbringing and with absolutely no sense of religiousity.

Then he made himself another cup of coffee from his machine in the kitchen, pulled out his laptop and got on Skype.

He had set Skype up on his mother's computer (the one he had bought for and shoved on her) a couple years ago, and while Edie wasn't at all technological, she had gotten very good at Skyping. The rest of the cyber world she could take or leave, it didn't hold much interest for her (besides looking up recipes, damn did she love looking up new recipes), but a machine that could let her look at her only son every other week ("from all the way in America!") was a gift from G-d.

" _Guten morgen, Mama"_ he said to her through his webcam, waving, and she keened and clapped her hands and got teary eyed the same way she always did when this miracle continued to take place, right on schedule.

" _Oh, kleiner!_ " she cried to him. He was six foot now, but she called him 'little one' like he was still her little runt of the litter.

Edie unclapsed her hands and touched her computer screen as if to reach through it to touch him and Erik for some illogical reason reached out to do the same. He realized what he was doing and blushed, waving to her again through the screen to disguise his grab for the computer.

They exchanged more emotional greetings (she demanded to know if he had eaten dinner, and what he had had, he was equally interrogative when he asked after her health), and Erik started to wonder when he should work in that he was dating someone now. He had never had to broach this subject before; he wasn’t sure how to bring it up tactfully.

"There's something you want to tell me," she accused him of in German. His mother only spoke German, even after all those years living in Ireland. She technically knew Yiddish, too, although she only used it to talk on the phone to her synagogue friends when she didn't want Erik to understand her. For all his language skills he only knew certain oft-used words and phrases in Yiddish.

"Mama," he groaned, as he always did when she found things out via inexplicable means.

"What is it? What's wrong with _mein kleiner_?"

Erik smiled.

"Ohhh, I see," she mused. "So nothing is wrong. Something is _good_. What _good thing_ has happened to _mein kleiner Schatz_?"

"I maybe met a guy," Erik said, trying to sound nonchalant, but he was beaming out of his skull and it threw off the effect.

"Oh!" she cried, in ecstasies. "Erik, you _never_ tell me these things! This man must be very good!"

"He is," Erik assured. Edie was right that Erik never told her about his boyfriends, even when he _did_ have boyfriends. Normally he'd only mention them once they'd broken up: 'Oh, Mama, I forgot to tell you. I kind of had a boyfriend. But it didn't work out. I just thought you'd want to know.'

"Tell me all about him," Edie demanded, and Erik was more than happy to oblige.

"He's a professor at the university," was as far as he got though before Edie interrupted him, hackles fully up.

"An older man?" she growled.

Erik had dated an older man before it had been even more disastrous than usual. Edie had immediately started distrusting any older men that had anything to do with Erik, even straight ones. It made for interesting introductions around town whenever Erik visited her. She had temporarily been on the bad side of G-d after she accused an ancient rabbi with wife and kids and _grandkids_ of trying to seduce him.

"No, no, Mama," he assured. "He's twenty-eight."

"That is very young for a professor. He must be very smart: smart to be a professor and smart to date you," she beamed proudly. Erik mirrored her back, flattered.

"He's a genius," Erik informed straight-forwardly.

"Just like _mein kleiner_ ," Edie grinned. Erik blushed. He was exceptionally good at certain things, but he wasn't sure that that qualified him for genius-hood. There was no point arguing that point with his mother though.

"He's very sweet and nice. Emma says that I'll send him home crying to his mother, and Azazel says that he's too nice for me," Erik said rather bitterly, barely avoiding saying 'good' instead of 'nice'.

Edie picked up on his discomfort immediately and took a strong line with him.

" _Erik Lensherr,_ " she growled at him the way she did when she caught him sticking metal bits into the water balloons he fully planned on dropping on Wolfgang von Strucker from downstairs (Wolf was a notorious bastard, so this was sort of a weekly occurrence).

Erik ducked his head shyly, knowing the abuse of flattery that was about to come his way.

"You are a great man! If this boyfriend is sweet and nice then he is exactly what you deserve! Too much you date these awful people, and they are bad to you and make your poor mother worry about you. Emma and Azazel are good friends but they don't know you like your own mother. You are _good_ to people, and you won't send him crying anywhere. He's too strong to be sent crying."

"Mama," Erik blushed. "You've never met him. How do you know if he's strong?"

"You like him, and I know what you like," she said in all certainty. She continued without him asking, luckily, because he wanted to know what she thought he liked, and he didn't want to say it out loud. "You like to protect people, but you like them to have enough strength to protect themselves, too."

"I don't think Emma would agree that I like to protect people," Erik chuckled.

"Emma does not know you like I know you," his mother repeated sagely.

"Yes, Mama," he replied, because there was no point in arguing with her. His mother was always right, no matter what, even when all objective evidence pointed to her being wrong. Erik _was_ protective, he knew, and it was only the fact that he was protective towards such a small percentage of people that made it seem false on paper.

The two of them talked for a while longer: Erik delivering Charles' entire back story as far as he knew it and emailing her a picture from his phone (it was hard to pick one in which the both of them weren't antagonizingly drunk, and Erik finally had to settle for the one of them collapsed on the crosswalk).

"Oh, Erik," Edie sighed. "He is very handsome."

"It's not a good picture," Erik frowned. "His eyes are closed. His eyes are his best feature: they're this amazing blue."

Edie smiled at him knowingly from her computer.

"You seem to like him very much."

Erik nodded in agreement. "I know, it's surprising."

"I'm not surprised," Edie argued. Erik was confused.

"Why not? I've never liked any of my other boyfriends so much. I was beginning to think I wasn't made to like people," he laughed to take the seriousness out of his sentence.

"Then I know you better than your friends _and_ _you_ ," Edie teased. "I know how much love you have inside of you" _Deep, **deep** inside you, Emma would have snarked. _ "and so I knew that it was only a matter of time before you met someone to give it to."

Erik could feel his blush all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Mama," he groaned. "This is so sappy. You're going to make my teeth fall out of my head."

This was a bad thing to say, though, because it reminded Edie that Erik had had a dentist appointment a while back. Which meant that Erik had to admit that he had missed this dentist appointment (he couldn't help it, he had been busy plotting ways to seduce Charles and it had completely slipped his mind).

"Erik, you have such lovely teeth--you need to take care of them!" his mother complained.

At least this had gotten them off the subject of how in _lurrrvvve_ he was with Charles, though, so Erik guessed it was worth it. Guessed it very begrudgingly as he sat through his mother's chastisements.

When he started yawning it was already past two, and Edie insisted he go to bed.

"Next time we speak, maybe I can meet Charles," she suggested and Erik pretended that they were breaking up.

"Sorry, Mama--didn't catch that. I'll talk to you later, though!"

" _Gute Nacht, mein kleiner Luegner,_ " she sighed, not fooled for a moment. She never was. " _Ich liebe dich._ "

" _Ich liebe dich auch, Mama_ ," Erik said, and they hung up.

He wondered if there would come a day when he would be adding Charles to the minuscule list of people he exchanged _ich liebe dich_ s with... He wondered how long he could prevent Edie from talking to his boyfriend.

He wasn't worried about his mother: she was so great and so nice and so loving, he knew that she and Charles would get on famously. That was exactly the problem.

His mother was such an amazing dear of a woman: adoring, caring, wise, sweet. How could he stand up against that? Erik had to imprint himself strongly on Charles’ heart before he introduced him to his mother, otherwise Edie was sure to oust him from the tremulous position he held in Charles’ esteem. It was hard to be related to someone so much better than him. This must be how Raven felt all the time.

He wished that he could talk to Charles right now, be reassured that the man liked him and would continue to like him even when it came to light that he was related to someone much more deserving of intense affection.

Before he had even really committed to the idea, his fingers were flying through his phone, dialing Charles up.

Erik was just about to abort this mission, three rings in, when Charles' voice came on the line. The man sounded more whispery than groggy, his voice low and so soft right in Erik's ear.

"Hullo?" he murmured.

"I'm sorry," Erik replied softly. "I woke you."

"I don't mind in the slightest," Charles said. "Did you want in?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are you?"

"At home."

"Oh, I thought maybe you'd changed your mind and decided to come over..."

Erik blinked.

"I...I didn't know that was an option."

"Oh, darling," Charles chuckled pityingly. "Spending the night is _always_ an option."

"I'll have to remember this for next time," Erik mused.

"Indeed you will." Erik laughed softly and Charles murmured, "So, if you're not calling to be let in then what _can_ I do for you?"

"I'm a cruel boyfriend:” _god, he was a boyfriend! He was this man’s boyfriend!_ “I woke you just to hear you."

"That's not cruel. It's sweet," Charles sighed. Erik was glad he thought so at least. "How is _Mutti_?"

Erik's spine shivered at hearing Charles speak German, even a bit of it. His accent was very good, for the one word. He wondered if Charles would be willing to learn any of the language and stiffened at the mere thought of it.

" _Mutti ist gut, danke,_ " he replied.

 _"Ja? Das ist gut._ " Erik grinned. This clinched it, he would not rest until Charles was fluent. Or at least until he could talk dirty.

"Well, I'll let you go back to sleep. I only want to...well," _What? Make sure the Brit hadn't changed his mind about dating someone like him?_

"I'm going to be busy tomorrow," Charles sighed. "Getting my lectures prepared. But maybe we could do something together this week. To make up for me being away this weekend."

Erik smiled. "I'd like that. Call me when you have a free minute and we'll put our heads together."

"Hmmm which ones?" Charles whispered gravelly into the phone, chuckled sinisterly when Erik's mind blanked out, and hung up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik has a less than stellar half-week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much Lucia for all the Spanish help! Literally couldn't do it without you!

Wednesday was the only day that could be said to have any positive value to Erik that week. Sunday was miserable; Monday was ten times worse; Tuesday was useful only in the sense that it was nearly Wednesday; and, really, even Wednesday wasn't so hot since the only good part of it came all the way at 9PM--practically Thursday.

The proof of Wednesday day not being so much to write home about was the fact that Charles had a busy load that day, and on top of that busy load he was expected to go to some lecture after lesson planning.

 He had tried to warn Erik of this.

 Erik had dutifully ignored him.

He was _glad_ he had ignored him, because ignoring him had been necessary to force Charles to agree to see him after the lecture at all. And seeing Charles at 9PM after a long day for the both of them was better than not seeing him at all. He had gone through the last few days practically not seeing him at all, and he knew first-hand how aggravating that was.

'Aggravating' was the only way to describe time away from Charles, and so Erik was aggravated Wednesday, even though he could now count the hours till Charles arrived on one hand. This fact was just uplifting enough for him to manage the politeness necessary to warn Angel of his mood when she walked in.

"Under no fucking circumstances are you to piss me off today, because I'm just not in the mood," he growled to her.

"I know. Alex warned me. You think you'd be in a _good_ mood today, since loverboy is returning," Angel mused, taking the cash register from him so he could stop glowering at customers and start glowering at the espresso machine instead.

She was right of course (Angel had that habit): one _would_ think that, after not seeing Charles since 9AM Saturday morning, all of Wednesday would be glowing with the pride of their meeting.

But one would be wrong.

Maybe it was because it was practically finals week and so everyone that had anything to study was bombarding his cafe. Maybe it was because Hank had begged off his shift in order to cram, and so Erik had to work all fucking day. Maybe it was because he had been struggling to come up with a proper pet-name for Charles for three fucking _days_ and still hadn't achieved anything.

It had all started innocuously enough: Charles had called him on his drive up to Chastin for a meeting with some science buddy of his on Sunday. Less innocuous: Erik had nearly _lost_ it after being regaled with the long list of reasons why he would not be seeing his brand-spanking-new boyfriend for the too-long stretch of days ("I have lesson prep Monday, then finals planning," Charles had admitted, squashing Erik's first dream (which entailed blowing off all of everything and spending the day decidedly together). He continued to get shot down from there. "Tuesday's no good, I've got class, then I have to verify lab data and it's a pretty slow process...I could do dinner. Wait, _Tuesday_. I've got a benefactor's dinner I have to go to...")

Erik had downright forced the man to see him on Wednesday, and the trade-off was that Charles couldn't come until after the lecture. Then Charles had to let him go and all the trouble had really started.

Because Charles said: "I'll see you soon, though not as soon as I could wish, darling."

And Erik had realized that he was already _'darling'._ And that had instigated Erik's natural competitiveness, and he had gotten right to work coming up with something perfect to call Charles.

Bless his heart, he had actually thought it was going to be easy: stick dear, sweetie, and honey on a list, close your eyes, and point at one.

But then things had gotten complicated.

 _Schatz,_ he had thought at the espresso machine Sunday afternoon, and added that to his mental list. _Schatzchen_ and _Schatzi_ were quickly appended. Then _Knuddel._

By the end of the day his mind was so swarmed with so many terms of endearment in so many languages that he had accidentally called one customer _mon chou_ and had called Sean _sunshine, Liebling,_ and _mentsh_ ) on three separate occasions, so that by the end of the day the poor redhead probably thought that Erik was trying to get into his pants.

At home that night the escapade had continued just as miserably: Erik worked hard at committing his mental list to paper, in order of preference, which had sounded easier than it turned out to be.

'Blue-eyes' was good, but didn't have the connotation of intense affection necessary to apply to Charles, so he put it in the middle of the list. _Schatz_ was excellent, and even allowed him to talk his mother-tongue to the lad, but was somehow not unique enough for his tastes: it was allowed to rank a bit higher than 'blue-eyes'. In all his life he had never met another man like Charles, and he was fixated on tracking down a word anywhere within his five languages that somehow encompassed that concept. He worked hard on his list without satisfaction and fell asleep on the paper.

Monday morning _Mausi_ was imprinted on his cheek and he couldn't scrub it off. Az teased him all day and it didn't feel good-natured, and people kept staring. It was not at all enjoyable. The absolute shittiness of that was somewhat assuaged by Charles literally _running_ in to kiss him over the counter.

"Just on my way home to grab some papers I forgot! Can't chat!" the Brit exclaimed in less than one breath, kissed him once more and sprinted from the building.

He poked his head back in when he was running back to campus. "Also, why is 'Mouse' written on your cheek?" But he had to run away before Erik could growl that it was for _his_ benefit that he had been writing _Mausi_ anywhere at all.

It was gone by Tuesday morning with the help of nail-polish remover and a strong constitution, and Erik stood on the sidewalk with a Chai in his hand to intercept his man on his way to class. But the man was late and it was cold and he looked like a fucking idiot just standing there while all the people maneuvered around him on their way to classes.

When Charles _did_ finally make an appearance he was rushed because he was late to class and even though the brunet was overjoyed to see him, kissed him, thanked him, called him 'darling', it was all compressed into too short a time to be truly enjoyable, so that Erik returned to work in an even blacker mood. So much so that Janos kicked him out to the back of the house and locked him in his office.

"¡Equilibra los libros hasta que estén lo suficientemente zen para no incomodar a las parejas!*" Janos shouted at him through his door (you knew you’d truly pissed Janos off when he was so angry he forgot English).

"They shouldn't have been sucking face at my fucking counter!" Erik screamed back, hitting the door and hopefully making Janos jump.

Janos didn't rise to his bait, only went back to work, and Erik pulled out his phone to complain to Charles, but realized the other man would be teaching at the moment, so he hit the door again instead.

Then he started working on the books. Not because Janos had _told_ him to, but because he _wanted_ to.

When the calming effect of mathematics had lulled him into peacefulness, he tried to call Charles, but the phone just rang and rang and went to voicemail, and the voicemail was some robot lady and not even Charles' voice, so that just ruined all of math's hard work. When Janos was forced to let Erik out, he still wasn't zen, and took this out on Alex until the boy threatened to tell Azazel on him.

All that brought him squarely to Wednesday, and the shining light of Charles at the end of the tunnel could barely manage to dispel the accumulated blackness from the rest of his week.

Until Angel brought something to mind.

The line of desperate studiers had slowed down enough for them to exchange two words, and although Erik wasn't feeling up to exchanging even one word with anyone but Charles, he changed his mind when Angel came up with something interesting to say.

"Doesn't he live with his sister? Isn't that awkward with all the loud monkey sex invariably going on between you two?"

Erik stared at her for a few long seconds, until his surprised gaze translated into meaning in her mind.

"Are you serious?" she asked, shocked. "With the dazed sort of happiness you have when he's around I thought for sure you guys were screwing, like, every other five minutes!"

Erik cleared his throat and started cleaning the espresso machine.

"Is this a thing? Or...are you cool with this?" Angel asked awkwardly and Erik rolled his eyes.

"I'm not discussing my love life with you! You don't need to worry about my love life!"

"What love life?" she snarked at him and he glared back.

"We do plenty, okay, we just keep getting interrupted."

Angel nodded sagely. "The sister."

"The sister," Erik agreed bitterly, remembering last week. "But she's taken care of now."

"Did you kill her?"

"Victory isn't about killing all your enemies; it's about winning over the enemies you can't kill."

"Thanks for that, Lao Tsu."

"Machiavelli," Erik corrected and Angel grinned at him.

"So, that's why you're so pent up, then," she mused. Erik couldn't hide his confusion, so she knew to explain, smiling teasingly. "You're finally going to get some!"

Erik's body gave two completely different yet simultaneous reactions to this: his eyes rolled, but his throat coughed nervously, so he wasn't sure what idea Angel would get from that. She didn't seem to know how to take it either: was he scoffing at her or was he actually anxious?

Luckily she wasn't the type to ask for elucidation on such a personal topic, and so they went back to awaiting customers, dutifully not looking at each other.

Before they could get back onto an equally awkward topic of discussion, Charles walked in half an hour early, out of breath and rosy with exertion.

"Hello, darling," he panted, reaching across the counter to pull Erik by the collar into a kiss. The taller man smiled against his lips, liking the way the smaller man somehow managed to manhandle him, bad mood promptly forgotten.

"I'll grab my jacket and I'm ready," Erik said happily, and glared at Angel when she cleared her throat to get his attention.

She looked apologetic at interrupting, but Erik thought that if she was really sorry she'd change her mind right then and there and _not interrupt him._

"It's just..." she started, looking between him and Charles as if she really wished she didn't have to do this, but _did_ have to. "My last fifteen..."

Erik growled at her in a way he hoped adequately said ‘ _Fuck your last fifteen._ ’

"That's okay," Charles said, patting Erik on the arm. "Fifteen minutes isn't long. I'm just going to run into the back, though--I've got to return Hank's paper."

"I'll show you to his locker," Angel said quickly, and ran with him in order to escape Erik's wrath.

The next costumer through the door wasn't so lucky, but was apparently too stressed out over her final (Astronomy, judging by her armful of textbooks) to fully notice his abject rudeness.

 _This better be the shortest goddamn fifteen minutes Angel's ever taken, if she knows what's good for her,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

But it wasn't. In fact, it was the _longest_ goddamn fifteen minutes she'd ever taken. It had been madness to leave her alone with Charles: the man was incapable of abstaining from small-talk, and now they had obviously gotten into some involved discussion that had distracted the normally-punctual Angel from her duties.

So when the coast was clear Erik grabbed the tipjar, locked the cash register and ran into the back room to bitch her out proper.

Except there were no voices to shout over: it was completely silent in the break room. Erik snuck his way in, half-afraid he was going to walk in on some sordid, unnatural affair. But Angel was just sitting there, eating her yogurt silently as she stared at Charles. And Charles was just sitting there...or...kind of...almost _lying_ there.

It took Erik another second to process what he was seeing, but then he got it: Charles had fallen asleep.

He was slumped over onto the table, head resting on the arm he had flung forward, and Erik could see a strip of pale skin at his wrist where it peeked out of his jacket cuff.

And seeing that, he couldn't shake off the soft smile that grabbed hold of him.

When he remembered Angel and glanced at her, she was staring at him studiously. So he tried to glower at her and motioned back to the front of house meaningfully.

She wasn't properly cowed though, and when she walked past him, grabbing the tip jar and the register key, she just looked between him and Charles nervously.

"Just...be careful, okay?" she murmured before she left.

Erik realized that he wasn't sure if she meant that he should be careful not to fuck this up, or if he should be careful not to _get_ fucked up.

Either way, he shrugged it off and walked over to his boyfriend. He had never actually _seen_ Charles sleeping as of yet. On their first sleepover the brunet had been buried under covers, and on their second the other man had woken up before him. As an added perk this go around: Erik was completely awake. Sleep wasn't grogging his senses, chronic bleary-eyedness wasn't mucking this up for him.

So he sat down to take it all in before he took the plunge to shake his boyfriend awake. He soaked in the full image of him, and then went on to catalogue specifics: the pale blue veins on Charles wrist, the paint-brush splay of his eyelashes, the half-curl of his long hair and the sheen of it where the light hit. He saw that Charles' coat collar was gaping, leaving a broad swath of skin available, just at the nape of his neck.

Erik was never one to pass up an opportunity to do exactly what he wanted, and here was the perfect one, so he leaned over and pressed his face to Charles' skin so that his brow scraped the back of the warm neck and his ear was flush against the soft skin just behind Charles' jaw.

The other man started slightly, but didn't jerk away. Erik could hear Charles' breathing speed up with wakefulness, but it was different hearing it like this, with his ear pressed to Charles' body. It was like listening to his own breath or heartbeat; the sound of Charles seemed to come from himself. He smiled and put his right arm around Charles' waist, his forearm pressed to the man's stomach.

Charles' himself couldn't move his arms without dislodging Erik from where the taller man was apparently breathing him in by the lungful, but the brunet did move his head to give Erik more room there.

"I think I fell asleep," he murmured, and Erik could hear his voice from the inside.

"I think so, too," Erik replied, lips brushing Charles' spine. The other man shivered and Erik tightened his grip on his waist.

The ardor of the moment was somewhat diminished when Charles' stomach growled loud enough to startle the front of house, or at least it seemed that way to Erik. He jerked up in surprise and Charles eyed him humorously from where his head was now pressed against the tabletop.

"I think I'm hungry," he quipped and Erik smiled at him ruefully.

"I guess we're going out to dinner, then."

Charles groaned. "Please don't make me. I'm so exhausted I'd fall asleep at the dinner table. I really don't think I could take it," he said, yawning. Erik pet his hair back and leaned over again, kissing his temple. Then he wasn't sure if it was okay to do that, so he looked to Charles to see if that was a normal boyfriend thing to do. The brunet didn't look scandalized, so he guessed it was.

It was hard, learning how to be a boyfriend. Erik wished he had done more extensive research into this before jumping in straight away. But then that sounded too close to Emma's advice of old, so he changed his mind. He was doing fine. Charles seemed to like it at least, so he couldn't be doing that crummy of a job at this whole boyfriend thing.

"We'll head back to your place and I'll feed you," Erik suggested and Charles smiled up at him rather sleepily.

"Thanks, love," he sighed, moving his arm in order to take Erik's hand.

Erik had never been too crazy about hand-holding. It was amazing that he constantly seemed to forget this when Charles was holding his hand.

Erik used the grip to hoist Charles to his feet, liking it when the momentum of it toppled the pliant man against his chest. He got his jacket and newsboy hat, and they said goodbye to Angel, and Erik started out on his journey to get Charles into bed. And to get him food too, he guessed. It was probably important to remember food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Balance the books until you're zen enough to not harass couples!*


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik shows his kitchen skills.

It was cold outside and Erik held Charles to his side while they walked. The brunet's head came up to his ear so it was easy to lean his cheek against the soft brown hair, except that they jounced as they walked, so that by time they got to the apartment Erik's cheekbone was sore from being head-butted at every step. He didn't begrudge the pain though: it seemed essentially worth it.

It was only when they got inside and Charles' stomach growled again that Erik realized he was in big trouble, because he actually _really_ did not know how to cook.

It was embarrassing to cop to: he was thirty-five, after all. What thirty-five year-old man living by himself didn't know how to cook? It would probably bring up the question of how he managed to feed himself. Or it could bring into question his maturity level, or even his survival skills, and certainly his care-taking abilities. To avoid any of these lines of questioning, Erik pushed Charles into the living room.

"You sit down. I'll whip you up something," he insisted, trying to sound like he was adept at whipping up anything in the kitchen besides a mess. He yanked off his hat and went stoically into the kitchen, where he could pray to the gods of edible meals alone, and without those watchful blue eyes on him.

First thing was first: he opened all the cabinets and the fridge, so he could see what he was dealing with. What was the easiest thing he could cook that would not make it seem as if he did not in fact know how to cook?

Normally, for his own dinners, he a) ate out, b) microwaved something, or c) ate things for meals which were not actually meant for meals, e.g.: popcorn, broth, bread and butter, and cheese and crackers. He recognized the fact that he could not feed Charles any of these things.

So he scanned the shelves, hoping something would jump out at him. The problem was, Charles' shelves were extremely well-stocked, so there were a lot of things to look at. Finally he saw some tomato paste, which reminded him that tomato soup tasted good, so he grabbed it and scooped the contents into a soup pan and turned on the burner. It looked very thick, though, nothing like soup, so Erik added water until it looked more soupy.

He wondered if soup would be enough for a normal person. He himself didn't eat much, but he knew that other people tended to be normal human beings, so he went about coming up with a second thing to feed Charles. This was even more difficult to find because, 1) he had already miraculously come up with one thing, and 2) this second miracle had to fit aesthetically with the first miracle.

Since Erik had always heard of grilled cheese and tomato soup as rather a package deal, he went with that, and fished out some bread and cheese. He shuffled these together and set them in another pan on the oven and lit that burner up, too.

Now that he didn't have to be embarrassed about his kitchen skills, he shut the cabinets and went into the living room to collect Charles.

It was only when he found Charles, jacketless and _asleep again_ , that he realized he was going to have to rethink his plan for how this night was going to go.

Before he had talked to Angel, his vague concept for the night had been of continuing what they had started on Friday before Raven had interrupted them. _After_ talking to Angel, the plan had gone on to include maybe even _finishing_ what they had started on Friday. After all, they were dating now, weren't they? He was a boyfriend now, wasn't he? Dating people had sex, and boyfriends had sex with their boyfriends (or girlfriends, he supposed, if you were into that kind of thing). So what was logically keeping them from having sex, then?

Charles' overwhelming exhaustion, apparently.

He supposed this was what he got for forcing a conjugal visit on an overworked professor after a full few days of professoring. So he bucked up and bit back a frustrated sigh and knelt down to where Charles was splayed out on the couch. He pressed his forehead against Charles' temple and refused to call it nuzzling.

"I'm sorry," Charles whispered. Erik was beginning to realize that Charles' whisper was simply a replacement for groggy mumbling.

"Why?" Erik questioned, confused, pulling back to watch the explanation. Charles' eyes were open now, but he avoided Erik's gaze.

"Because I'm a shitty boyfriend," he whispered.

Erik laughed, because it was a ridiculous premise. Shitty gang leader he could see; shitty rapist, absolutely. But shitty boyfriend? It was inconceivable.

"You're doing just fine," Erik assured, since Charles didn't seem to find his laughter very uplifting. "Let me feed you and I'll be happy."

So Charles pushed himself up weakly from the couch and stumbled along beside him to the kitchen. Where Erik's sandwich seemed to be on fire.

" _Fuck!"_ he shouted, shoving the pan off the burner. It skidded across the electric top, all the way into the sink. And brought the soup along with it.

"Did that expletive have anything to do with the bonfire I smell?" Raven shouted down from her room. "Do we need to evacuate?"

Erik shouted for Raven to shut her uppity mouth and snatched the leaking soup out of the sink, salvaging some of it. The sandwich was only half save-able, black and smoking on one side, but fresh and white on the other. He peeled the sides apart, trying to take some of the boiling cheese along with the good side.

Charles was polite and didn't comment, just flicked off the burners, turned on the oven fan and opened the kitchen window to clear the air.

He was too tired to deal with kitchenware, only just seemed to have the energy to get a utensil, and so he spooned his soup straight from the pan and dipped his half a sandwich in the bright red broth while standing right at the counter. He stopped after a couple spoon-fulls and looked around until he saw the little tomato can.

"Is this...did you use tomato paste?" he asked.

Erik wasn't sure if it was a good thing so he should tell the truth or it was a bad thing so he should lie, so he decided to go with the truth: it was better to get into trouble for something you _had_ done than to be vilified for something you _hadn't_ done. Right?

"Yeah," he said, and added, "Why?" when he saw Charles' face.

"No reason. It's really good," Charles said, staring at him and not blinking. Erik suspected he might be lying and grabbed a spoon to try for himself. Charles said, "Ahem," which Erik took to mean, ‘Please don't, I'm a total shit liar but I don't want to be caught out.’

Erik ignored him and took a sip anyway.

It was awful.

"Wow. That's bad," he coughed, and Charles laughed.

"It's not _that_ bad. With the sandwich," Charles insisted. But he wasn't blinking again, so Erik grabbed the sandwich and dipped it in the soup to test. The damned thing had apparently been tainted by its burnt twin: even though it looked fresh, it tasted rather charcoal-y, and the cheese was tough and waxy.

Erik sighed and threw it all away.

"I'll make you something else," Erik offered, by which he meant 'I'll run over to Pizza Brava down the street and buy you a slice.’

But Charles yawned and shook his head. "I'm too tired to eat, honestly. Let's just go to bed."

And Erik recognized that the man had said _'let's'_ and he beamed, and forgot to be upset about what a shit cook he was.

He had of course _hoped_ that Charles would want him to spend the night: enough even to pack an overnight bag. But he hadn't hoped quite so much as to be presumptuous enough to carry it in with him.

"My overnight bag is in my car--I'll just run and get it. Don't start taking off your clothes until I get back," Erik demanded and Charles laughed, which wasn't an answer, so Erik demanded again until Charles nodded and said, "Yes, yes. You won't miss anything, I promise."

Erik ran the two blocks to his car and back, and pretended it was because it was fucking cold outside. When he got back Charles was in his room but still fully dressed, so Erik was happy. He tossed down his bag and stripped off his leather jacket.

"That's a hefty-looking bag," Charles commented drowsily, sitting on his bed. When he was sleepy he blinked owlishly and this made Erik want to laugh but he somehow restrained himself.

"I brought your sweater and shirt back," Erik explained, taking them out and handing them over.

Charles waved them off, smiled warmly. "Keep them. I'd like you to." And Erik liked this idea, too, so he put them back.

"So, can I get undressed now?" Charles asked cheerily. The mere thought of it made Erik possessive, and either this translated to his face or Charles was psychic because the brunet continued: "Or would you like to do the honors? It doesn't have to lead anywhere."

Erik didn't know what he meant by leading anywhere though, since it would lead to Charles being _sans_ clothes, which was where Erik wished most things would lead.

So he walked forward until he was standing just in front of his boyfriend and moved his hands to the man's throat, unbuttoning his dress-shirt all the way to the navel where he had to untuck it from Charles's pants. The man was wearing an undershirt beneath, but Erik would deal with that in due time. Until then, he pushed Charles back until he was lying down across the bed and bent over to pull off his leather Oxfords. When he glanced back up, Charles had covered his face with his hands.

Erik didn't know if this was good or bad, but decided to continue until Charles told him to stop.

So he stroked his fingers up Charles' ankle until he got to the hem of a sock, hooked his thumb in and eased it off, then repeated with its partner. This accomplished, Erik wasn't sure if he should proceed in order of first-come-first-served or of aesthetics. The pants were technically next in line, but it seemed off to remove pants while there was a still a shirt holding out resistance. Two shirts, really.

Looking at it that way, there was only path of action. Erik reached up and pulled Charles' hands away from his face so he could undo the shirt cuffs. Once those were out of the way it was easy to pull the shirt off Charles' arms, and Erik enjoyed the effect: Charles' skin looked paler against his dark blue comforter, and his white wife-beater was half-untucked in the front, making him look especially sultry. He couldn't resist. He leaned over Charles' prone body, a well-placed elbow sustaining most of his weight, and kissed the man full on the lips. He barely had enough height to manage this, and had to climb up further on the bed in order to get a better angle.

Charles took advantage of this immediately, turning his head to the side to perfect their angles and kissing him within an inch of his life. The man was simply a miracle-worker when it came to kissing; it was completely incomparable. Erik had been kissed in his life before, obviously, kissed well, even, but nothing like this. Charles held him in place with a hand on either side of his face with a sort of single-minded devotion. That was the real difference, Erik thought, so much as he was able to think with Charles attached to his mouth: Charles kissed with absolutely all of his attention. There was nothing outside of the scope of Erik's mouth, Erik's body, so long as they were kissing.

Realizing this pleased Erik to no end, and he wanted to do something to please Charles in return, so with the hand that was not supporting his weight he pulled Charles' wife-beater free at the waist and slid a hand up to one nipple.

Charles' gasp broke their kiss, but Erik didn't mind. The other man had dropped his head back onto the bed to moan, leaving a whole column of throat available to Erik, and he had a thing against wasting opportunities, so he nipped and licked and sucked until Charles scrabbled at his back. At first Erik thought the other man was trying to stop him--right until Erik found his turtleneck around his face and figured out that Charles was actually undressing him. At the same time as wrapping his legs around Erik's thighs.

Erik gulped and blinked at Charles when he was freed from his shirt. Because they were definitely at a tipping point. If this thing went any further it was going to go all the way, and Erik did not think his ego could handle having Charles fall asleep on him in the middle of _that_.

So he eased Charles' legs off from around him and knelt up between them. Charles stared at him for a second, hands full of turtleneck, and then the man took a deep breath and closed this eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Charles whispered.

"That's okay," Erik said automatically--it was Erik's fault for forcing a meeting when Charles was so tired. But what had his alternative been? Not see Charles till Sunday or even Monday? Even if they couldn't go all the way due to Charles' exhaustion, this was better than nothing. If only he could convince his frustrated cock of the same thing.

Charles cleared his throat and looked at him, and Erik took the hint and got up--moving to his overnight bag to get his pajamas. Charles remained on the bed, apparently practicing deep-breathing. Erik wondered if this was part of his bed-routine but left him to it and got to changing. He didn't own any pajama sets like Charles did, so he had just thrown something together: an old T-shirt and some cotton athletic pants. He wasn't self-conscious (well, not about his body at least) so he stripped down there to change.

When he looked up again, Charles was sitting up, staring at him like a piece of dessert. It was incredibly flattering and Erik wished Charles could stay awake long enough to deliver on what that look promised. Then Charles noticed him looking, though, and coughed demurely before limping slightly to the bathroom.

Erik grabbed his toothbrush and joined the younger man.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, seeing the man poised with a pair of tweezers.

"Just...distracting myself," Charles muttered, and plucked a random hair from his eyebrow, wincing hard.

"Do you do this often?" Erik asked in confusion as Charles did it again.

"Thankfully, no," Charles said, and set down the tweezers with a deep breath before grabbing his own toothbrush.

They brushed side-by-side, stealing glances at each other in the mirror and grinning. It was strangely one of Erik's most romantic moments, and he was glad that if they couldn't go all the way they could at least do this. At the _very_ least.

Afterwards, Charles agreed to let Erik pick out his pajamas, and the man chose the dark blue pair he had borrowed the first time he was there. Charles smiled knowingly, but put them on anyway.

"I'm setting my alarm for seven. What time do you need to wake up for the cafe?" Charles questioned in bed, fiddling with his clock.

"Azazel is opening, so I don't have to be in until eight," Erik replied, settling back on a pillow.

Charles just looked at him blankly. "Who's Azazel?"

"Oh, sorry. Mr. Flemyng," Erik corrected with a chuckle. Charles laughed outright.

"His first name is Azazel? Did his parents name him that?"

"They're Satanists," Erik explained and continued when he saw Charles' comical expression. "Like, _actual_ Satanists. I'm not being facetious. Feel free to tease him about it."

Charles only rolled his eyes and turned off the lamp, throwing the room into darkness.

So it was by feel rather than by sight that Erik found his man under the covers and pressed him certainly to his body.

"Erik," Charles murmured, and Erik could feel the movement of the man's lips against his collarbone.

Erik sort of hummed a happy reply and Charles sighed with resignation before slipping an arm around Erik's waist and turning his head so his cheek rested on Erik's shoulder and the taller man could feel the scratch of eyelashes on his throat.

All in all it was not a terrible night.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik learns some hard news, and makes plans for the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cantella did uber cute art for Chapter 18 regarding Charles being an adorable phone-tease! It's so awesomely awesome! Check it out at her tumblr [here ](http://nieniekoto.tumblr.com/post/18901796752/based-on-this-one-scene-in-chapter-18-of-fools) !!  
> Thanks all of you for reading this thang through and kudos'ing and commenting and generally being superbly great people!

Thursday morning came on a lot faster than other mornings, or at least that's how Erik felt about it when Charles' alarm sounded off at 7AM on the dot. The man groaned from underneath him and struggled out an arm to shut it off and Erik realized he was lying fully on top of the other man, pinning him down. He rolled off apologetically and checked to make sure the other man wasn't crushed.

" _Schei_ _βe_ \--I'm sorry," he said, pushing Charles' hair back out of his eyes and feeling him over for bruises. There were some, but just on his neck, and Erik did not think those were from being slept on.

"I'm fine," Charles chuckled. "You've only got forty pounds on me, Erik, really."

And Erik was happy, even though it was 7 in the morning and even though he had nearly flattened his boyfriend, so he leaned down and kissed Charles softly on the lips. The other man took to this pleasantly and stroked Erik's cheek with the back of his knuckles lightly.

"I have to take a shower for work. Do you need the bathroom first?" he asked when they broke off.

"Just for a second," Erik replied. "I don't need a shower." And he scrambled up to wash his face and use the facilities so he wouldn't make Charles late. He had seen what a late Charles was like on Tuesday, and it had been awful. He didn't ever want that again: the rushing and the compressed pleasantries.

When he was done Charles was just exiting the closet with an armful of clothes, which Erik examined carefully. Pale blue dress shirt, gray cardigan, khaki slacks (along with sky-blue boxer briefs, good to know): it met his approval and he allowed Charles into the bathroom.

"I'll be quick. Make yourself at home," Charles suggested cheerily, much improved compared to his knackered self from last night.

So Erik made himself at home and headed into the kitchen. Raven was sitting on the couch watching TV in her pajamas, copy of _The Feminine Mystique_ open on her lap.

“What are you doing up this early?” he balked.

“What are you talking about? Who needs sleep when there’s energy drinks?”

"Ignoring school work?" he questioned, glancing at the TV: _Divorce Court_.

"That's what Study Week is all about," she agreed, but then added, "If Charles asks, I'm writing an essay," and pointed to her school book.

"And you think he'll buy that?" Erik scoffed.

"He's an idealist," Raven explained. "He'll believe anything so long as it's pleasant."

Erik frowned at that and headed into the kitchen to have another go at making his man food.

"Please don't burn down our house again," Raven shouted from the living room and Erik examined the kitchen knives, picking out the perfect one for his murder fantasy.

He didn't have enough of an imagination to see how he could ruin scrambled eggs, so he cleaned out the skillet from last night and went to work. Charles arrived, dressed but still damp, just as he was adding some spice.

"Mmmm, thanks for breakfast, darling," he hummed, hugging Erik around the waist.

This was a mistake though, because Erik's mind blanked out and he couldn't remember how much salt he had added. Undoubtedly too much though. He added lots of pepper to counteract it as Charles went about brewing some tea, quaint floral-print kettle taking up room beside Erik’s questionable eggs.

"How did you sleep by the way?" Erik asked. "Besides me crushing you, of course."

"Forty pounds is not exactly enough to crush me, dear. I slept absolutely perfectly."

Erik frowned. He had slept well, too, of course, but he couldn't help but think that he would have slept a hell of a lot better with an orgasm involved.

Since this was on his mind, he cleared his throat and tried to make his voice sound as philosophical as possible.

"I was wondering," he started, emptying the skillet onto a plate for Charles. He himself wasn't hungry, and he wasn’t trying to get into Raven’s pants so she could starve for all he cared.

"Do you want to eat in the dining room?" Charles interrupted, getting two tea cups and a pot down from the cabinet. His cardigan was folded up in the back and when he reached for the top shelf it notched up and showed a pale swath of spine. Erik had to swallow back the rush of saliva before he could manage to reach forward to fix the wardrobe malfunction. His fingers brushed against Charles' skin and they must have been colder than he thought because the man gasped and nearly dropped the cups.

"Sorry," Erik chuckled, rubbing some heat back into Charles' skin through his repaired clothes.

"S'okay," Charles murmured, and set their tea to steeping.

"Let's eat in here," Erik remembered to answer him--the dining room was connected to the living room and he didn't want to ask Charles anything as personal as this in front of Raven.

They fought over who would allow whom to use the breakfast stool to sit, and Erik eventually won by physically forcing Charles to sit down, knocking his feet out from under him.

"Anyway," Erik continued bitterly, shoving a fork into Charles' hand. "Like I was saying: I was wondering."

"Yes," Charles said for him to continue, pouring them two cups of tea.

“I’m of the opinion that too many misunderstanding tend to abide between us when I beat around the bush, so I thought I'd just ask outright this time: How long does one generally date before sleeping together in order to not be a sexless prude nor a wanton sex addict?"

Charles set his fork down halfway to his mouth and looked almost terrified, so that Erik panicked trying to think what he had said that was so extremely off. Maybe Charles liked misunderstandings. Maybe this was crudely outright of him to ask point-blank. Maybe Emma was right that he was abominable at relationships and should have taken a seminar or something before attempting this seriously.

"Erik-- _no_!" Charles said, but Erik didn't know what this 'no' was referring to so it didn't calm him at all. "Listen, I do _not_ think you are a prude. Really, I'm very sorry about last night, and I promise you I won't pressure you again, I just got caught up in the moment. However long you want to wait, it's okay. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do or before you're ready to do it."

Erik stopped this madness with a firm hand over Charles' mouth.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked steadily.

Charles blinked up at him with those huge blue eyes of his and eased his hand away.

"Just that...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you," he murmured, apparently taking Erik's hardness for a cover of his humiliation rather than for what it was: pure and simple confusion about a matter he did not want any confusion to mar.

"I'm not embarrassed, I'm confused. What did you mean about pressuring me?"

"For sex," Charles explained and Erik stared at him dumbly.

"When did you pressure me for sex?"

It was Charles' turn to be confused. "What? Last night! When I..." he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. Erik remembered that Raven was right in the next room. And she had apparently turned off the TV. Or at least muted it.

"Stop being a fucking perv and mind your own business!" he shouted at her, and when the TV noise came back on Charles continued softly.

"I started undressing you and you stopped me."

Erik wasn't sure all his organs were working properly: either his heart wasn't pumping regularly or his lungs weren’t dealing with oxygen correctly, but his body felt off.

"I stopped you because you were exhausted! Were...weren't you exhausted?"

"Well, _yes_ , but I don't think I'll _ever_ be so exhausted as to pass up having sex with you," Charles laughed. But Erik did not see how this was a laughing matter.

"Are you telling me that if I hadn't stopped us last night we would have had sex and you would not have fallen asleep in the middle of it?" he growled dangerously.

"Fall asleep during sex? Is there such a thing?" Charles balked, as if he were hearing of a rare tribe abroad that ate babies for birthdays.

"O God," Erik gasped, shaky, and pushed Charles out of the chair so he could sit down before his legs gave out.

"Erik, it's not so bad," Charles said, and went to continue but Erik interrupted him.

"How on Earth is it not so bad? We could have had sex last night, and instead it's going to be put off till next week at the earliest, and _anything_ could happen between now and next week! I could be _dead_ by next week, and then you'll have some lustful ghost coming after that arse!"

Charles just smiled at him. "Well, from my perspective things are looking pretty rosy. Here I thought you were some sexless prude and I was going to have to wait months to get you relaxed enough to fuck you. Now it turns out I only have to get through a week or so."

Erik looked at him blankly. "Did you just say the word fuck? Are professors allowed to talk that dirty?"

"You haven't heard dirty yet," Charles hummed to him, and Erik managed to crack a predatory sort of smile in anticipation.

"A week is a long time to wait for it, too," Erik suggested, and his mind sparked with genius and he had to try hard to keep his face neutral as he considered it fully. "I'll put the blame securely where it's due:" he said, keeping the plotting out of his voice. "Science. It must be a very important conference to keep us from escalating this relationship."

"It is, unfortunately," Charles frowned, taking his now-cold eggs and microwaving some heat back into them, along with their tea. "Scientists from the entire Eastern seaboard will be there analyzing each other's work. Some important acts will go on to present at the national conference in March, with grants being given out after that to fund expenses to the conferences in Paris and Shanghai in July."

"When do you find out if you've made it?" Erik asked to keep him talking while he thought. Would his plot still work with this new information? Erik didn't want to ruin Charles' chances at the conference with his deviant behavior...

"Well, this weekend we'll have kind of a peer review, and then make any changes necessary to our work, then the short list candidates will present at the January conference, then we'll find out about nationals probably in early February or so."

Erik perked up at this.

"So this weekend doesn't completely make or break your chances. It's like a practice run."

"Yes, rather," Charles agreed.

Erik beamed at him, and had to rush to come up with a reason why: "Well, regardless, I know you'll do amazing. I'll start booking my ticket to Paris."

Then he realized that he was implying that he and Charles would still be dating in July, and that Charles would want him to come with him to an important international conference. Charles didn't correct him, though, just smiled joyfully and kissed him on the mouth.

Plotting was ruling his mind, but he managed to leave a few brain cells left over, just enough to notice Charles' face when he bit into his eggs.

"Damnit, what this time?" he asked.

"Nothing," Charles said, not blinking. "They're great."

Erik glared at him and popped a bit into his mouth. He had to lunge across the kitchen to spit it out into the sink so it didn't end up on the floor: leaving it in his mouth simply wasn’t even an option and swallowing it would certainly kill him. He grabbed for a dishtowel blindly and wiped the overwhelming taste (if you could call something so monstrous a _taste_ ) of salt and pepper from his tongue. There was no hint of eggs that could come through past that.

"Oh, Erik, don't be so melodramatic! It's not that bad!" Charles insisted.

"You only think that because you have no taste-buds leftover from your first bite," Erik replied, rinsing his mouth out. "Throw those away before you get a sodium overdose and die and then I'll never have sex."

“If I do,” Charles grinned, obeying orders and tossing his meal away. “Then you can just pine away from sexlessness and we can meet up and fuck by the pearly gates.”

Erik nearly pointed out that he was atheist _and_ Jewish, so it was doubly doubtful he and Charles would end up in the same place, but decided against it. Push came to shove he’d find a way to set it up. No way was he spending an _eternity_ in whatever sort of afterlife there might be without having gotten his hands on that hot professorial arse.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik plots, clandestinely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Stuff, guys, I've got some breakin' news: I have actually been doubling up chapters (this chapter would be 2 but is now 1) and so i realized that there is not actually going to be 41 chapters! I now have no idea how many there will be, except that it will be less than 41 by a little margin. Just fyi!  
> Thanks again all you lovely people who like to comment and so make me feel so very very good about my li'l story here! It's always hard to tell if what you're writing is a good idea beyond anything but your won head, so your thoughts really bolster a girl's confidence!   
> Sorry for the gushing! Just wanted to say thaaannksss!

He and Charles parted ways outside the cafe, although he found out that he said goodbye incorrectly.

"Oi!" Charles balked when Erik moved to go inside.

"What?"

"Where's my kiss goodbye, you prude?" Charles teased and Erik laughed but kissed him deeply anyway.

"How's that for a prude?" he murmured against Charles' slick lips.

"You're an enigma. The sexiest prude I've ever met," Charles grinned, and kissed him one more time in that intoxicating way he had before loping off.

The moment Erik was through the door he held up a hand to block off Azazel's snark and got on his phone to Hank in record time.

"Mr. Lensherr?" the boy squeaked into the receiver.

"Don't panic. I need something. Quick: what's your TA's phone number?" Erik demanded, and Hank was too impressionable to deny him.

"Hello?" the girl answered on the third ring.

"Hello, Jean?" He was glad the luck of the draw had given him the redhead: Ororo was too quiet to weasel information out of, and he didn't think he could convince Scott to help him do anything that could be labeled as plotting, the guy practically had goody-two-shoes embroidered on his Buster Browns. Jean on the other hand...

"Speaking; may I ask who's calling?"

"Hey, Jean, are you alone?"

"... _Who is this_?"

"I'm not a pervert—"

"I think I'll be the judge of that."

"I am calling clandestinely, so please _don't exclaim anything_ when I tell you that this is Erik Lensherr--Charles'-"

"Of course!" she interrupted him to gush. "Charles'--"

" _Don't finish that sentence!_ " he shouted in a rush. "Come _on_ , Jean, what don't you get about _clandestine_? Now, go someplace where no one can hear you so we can talk about clandestine things."

"Um...but...class..."

"Ugh, fine, call me after class. Tell no one, upon pain of death."

"All...all right," she said, stilted. "You're going to be less weird when I call you back, right?"

"I'll do my best," Erik promised.

Charles' class only went to 10:50, but it was 11:30 before Jean called him back. Erik was in the storage room taking inventory, and lunches hadn't started yet so at least there was no one to hide his conversation from, happily.

"You're late," he accused when he answered.

"You said it was clandestine. I had to wait till I could get away," Jean replied defensively. Her voice echoed.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the handicapped bathroom in the basement." When Erik was silent out of pure surprise she went on even more defensively. "You said to be clandestine! This is the most clandestine place I know, okay! Do you want to talk or not?"

And he did, so he said, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Thank you. For getting back to me."

"No problem. On a side note, I was hoping to see you to tell you in person, but congratulations."

"…On what?"

"On dating Charles of course!" she laughed.

Erik was taken aback by this enthusiasm. All of Charles' other friends seemed to view the start of their relationship as the proper time to accost or downright attack him. He wasn't sure how to take this sort of cheerful acceptance.

"You...you're not going to threaten to castrate me should I ever break his heart? You're not going to tell me your father is a mobster who could make me disappear? You're not going to inform me of your handiness with a loaded weapon?" he asked suspiciously.

"Actually I thought all of that was rather assumed. Would you like me to put it all out in the open though?"

"No, thanks," Erik said quickly. "I'll just assume that you'll maim me for hurting Charles and you'll just assume that that’s the last thing on my agenda and we'll move on from there, if you please."

"Sounds excellent. You've been getting a lot of grief over this thing then, I take it?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but I think _multiple_ people have dibs on crushing my manhood in the event of a breakup."

"Oh my. I'll have to get creative then. Excuse me if I don't rush," she laughed.

Erik was curious despite his general mistrust of curiosity. "Why wouldn't you rush?"

"I don't think you'll be hurting him any time soon," she laughed. "It sounds mushy, and please don't take it the wrong way...I know I've only just met you, but...well, you looked rather...shall we say, affected by the professor? It's easy to be, I know, but well, it seemed a bit more than that..." The conversation had suddenly gotten too intimate for either of their tastes so they both cleared their throats and tried to change the subject at the same time.

"Anyway, what do you need?" Jean asked, but she was drowned out by Erik's, "Listen I need you to do me a favor."

Jean, polite darling that she was, pretended her question was a figment of everyone's imagination and replied to Erik's.

"Of course! What can I do for you?"

"You know that conference Charles is doing this weekend?"

"Sure, the Freeman-Cumberbatch Conference--it's a peer review presentation."

"In Metropolis, right?" Erik double-checked.

"Yeah. Saturday and Sunday. He's going with some of the other professors from campus that he collaborated with on his study."

"Well, I'd very much like to crash that party, Jean."

The redhead laughed outright.

"And I take it you'd like my help in doing this?"

"I'm not asking for _much_ help. Just directions to Charles' hotel, and room number, and his schedule for the conference."

"Oh, no, hardly any help at all," she intoned.

"I'd owe you, and it's not too bad to have the owner of a coffee shop owe you with finals week coming up, is it?"

"I'm not helping you for free coffee," she scoffed, making Erik nervous until she continued. "I'm helping you because it's sweet and romantic and Professor Xavier deserves all that and more. You _are_ doing this for sweet and romantic reasons, right? Not evil jealous reasons or creepy stalker reasons?"

Erik wondered how evil jealous reasons were different than creepy stalker reasons, but realized he didn't really care. His reasons were what they were and although he didn't know what category they fell under, he knew that he was doing this to make Charles have fun, not to hurt him, and so those had to be good motives.

"Yes," Erik said. Not his most eloquent moment. But how to explain to a girl he'd only met in person once everything he felt about Charles even after only a couple weeks of being with him? He didn't have to explain, luckily. If Jean didn't know then that didn't matter and if she did know then good for her.

"Good. Pick a time Xavier won't be around and you and I can go over it all over coffee," Jean suggested.

"I thought this wasn't about free coffee?"

"Well, it's not, but that doesn't mean I'm going to turn it down."

"All right," Erik laughed. "Charles is leaving Friday afternoon, so do you want to meet up then?"

"It's a date, Mr. Lensherr."

"It's really, _really_ not," Erik admonished. Jean just laughed and hung up.

Erik saved her number in his phone. He might need more clandestine help someday, and Jean had proven herself reliable.

\------------------------------------------------------------

When Jean walked into the cafe  Friday Erik's lips were still tingling from Charles kissing him. 'Kissing' was maybe too mild a word. Maybe 'mauling' would have been more apt.

"I'm not going to see you for three days," Charles said defensively, wiping watered-down blood from Erik's cut lip. "I've got to a lot of affection to ration out."

"I think you broke my nose," Erik complained.

"I did no such thing," he scoffed. "It’s always been that way."

Erik laughed and held him still while he kissed him softly. When he pulled back his blood was a pink streak just below Charles' bottom lip. He sucked on his own lip to stop the bleeding and wiped the stain away with his thumb.

"Going to miss me?" Charles teased when he was cleaned up.

"Yes," Erik admitted readily. Normally he probably would have denied it, but this lie was making him cop to lots of strange things lately.

He had had an entire discussion with Charles about the fictional children's hospital play he was going to see on Saturday, and apparently on Sunday he was going to volunteer at an orphanage. He had had no idea that he was such a shit liar. It was mind-boggling that he could live with himself for thirty-five years and only find this out now, when it was really necessary for it to not be the case.

"We'll be going out Saturday night, probably, but maybe tonight you can call me up. I can give you a preview of that dirty talk we were discussing yesterday," Charles suggested, tilting his hips against Erik's as he spoke. Erik choked on his own saliva and banished Charles from his cafe for public indecency.

"You're the one who let me back here," the professor admonished, letting himself out from behind the counter.

"Yeah, well, I've learned my lesson. Come kiss me goodbye--but don't bite another hole in my lip."

Charles leaned over the bar and kissed him very gently, licking his wound.

"I'll miss you, darling. Remember to phone," he said with a wink, and waved his way out of the cafe after saying goodbye to Angel (although with less seduction, thank goodness).

Ten minutes later Erik was stationed impatiently at a table as he waited for Jean (and worked on his pet-name list while he had some down time). He didn't get that much time to devote to it as Jean walked in, put on her plotting-cap with a minimum of fuss, and got to work.

Apparently Charles would have a check-in tonight when he arrived in Metropolis, which included opening ceremonies and a catered meal. Then they'd break for the evening, "Probably around seven or eight," Jean supplied, and then Charles would be free all night long.

"He'll try to convince them all to go out to Clark's, this dive bar on Lois Ln, but everyone will turn him down. Ever since he pocketed five hundred dollars drinking professors from up and down the coast under the table, they've been a lot less willing to go out with him _before_ the conference. He was solely responsible for the Great Hangover of '07."

"That's my man," Erik mused good-naturedly, remembering his own Great Hangover, which had been anything _but_ great.

Jean grinned at him over his notes and he tried to stop himself from grinning back but didn't manage it.

"They'll be able to hold him off for a while, but not indefinitely, so you should pretty much plan on Saturday night being fully reserved for boozing it up all over town with C.F. Xavier, Public Drunkard."

"Got it, Saturday night is off the table."

"He'll head back here Sunday after closing ceremonies, although you might be able to reserve his room for that night and surprise him."

But Sunday was so far off, and if they did spend the night in Metropolis Sunday they'd just have to drive back super early on Monday so that Charles could be in his office in the morning, and they'd have to drive their separate cars, they wouldn't even be able to ride together.

"I'll take care of it," Erik said cryptically. He actually meant 'I'll do what I want, and what I want comes a lot closer to right now than Sunday.'

Jean sort of rolled her eyes, so maybe she could read minds, too.

Then she got caught up in their plan, though, and forgot to scoff at him.

"This is so romantic," she sighed, leaning her cheek into her hand. Erik personally thought it was a lot more lustful than romantic, but he didn't know much about these things, so he allowed for the fact that he might be wrong on this one item.

"Well, thanks. I have to go now. Um...business stuff. Not because I'm going to Metropolis right now," Erik coughed.

"You're going to Metropolis right now, aren't you? You'll get there too early! He's not free until 7 or 8 I said!"

"I know, I know! I'm not going for that--it's...something...else."

"You're such an awful liar. Come on, I'll help you take your mind off it. We can go pick out some flowers for Doctor Posh."

"Doctor Posh?"

"Yeah, like Doctor Spock, but trendier."

"What about Doctor Cock? That seems a lot more apt."

"...You two were truly made for one another."


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik could legally be arrested for Public Sexiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short! I'm sorry!

 

Erik told himself that he would have thought of the flowers thing on his own, without Jean's help. Also, the suit. And the cologne. He would have thought of all of these things on his own, without Jean's help. He was sure of it.

Still, he was glad that she had brought it up. It saved time.

Standing in his own living room for her inspection, he watched her face carefully to catch what she thought. So far though he had been standing in front of her for a full minute and nothing but wide-eyed blankness had crossed her face.

"Well?" he growled. "I'm not changing again, so it's this or back to slacks and a turtleneck."

"No! This is...this is good," she coughed. Erik frowned and tried to eye himself in the mirror over the fireplace. He didn't actually own any floor-length mirrors, so he just had to kind of guess as to what his bottom half looked like. If it looked half as good as his top half then he figured he was in good standing.

He hadn't wanted to bust out the same suit he had worn for Emma, since Charles had already technically seen that and he deserved an outfit just for him. So Erik had tracked down something new. -Ish. His court suit. And damn, no wonder he always won his court cases. He had always thought it was purely due to Emma's mastery of a courtroom, but now he allowed for the fact that maybe it was impossible for a judge or jury to find anyone in a suit this hot guilty of anything except public sexiness.

It was a deep dark navy blue, and managed to dye his eyes a sort of attractive indigo rather than their normal gray. Silky smooth, it clung to every plane of him in the same way he hoped Charles would later that night. The tie Jean had thought to pair it with was diagonally striped, paler blue and silver and managed to strike a stance exactly between playful and sexy. He wondered how Charles would feel about being tied up with such a tie.

Clean-shaven and freshly showered, he made a good accompaniment to the clothing, so that there was nothing anyone could find remiss about the pairing. Since no detraction was possible dressed like this, Erik assumed that Jean's wide-eyed stare was approbation.

"Thanks, hon," he winked at her, grabbed up the flowers they had picked out together, and kicked her out of his house.

"Aren't you going to give me a lift back to campus?" she whined as he tossed his fresh overnight bag into his trunk.

"You've got a bus pass," he said, straightening his wool jacket over his suit carefully.

"I've got a cell phone, too," Jean mused. "Maybe I'll give Charles a call while I wait for the bus."

He glared at her. She grinned back. "Get in."

"Thought you might," she said cheerfully, and followed his advice.

After dropping Jean off he had to get _back_ onto the freeway, and from there it was still two hours to Metropolis, which was good actually since it would put him into town exactly at eight. Longer, he realized, because he would have to stop for food. He didn't want to get anything on his suit, so he just ordered a Coke at some drive-thru place, refusing to move his car until he was satisfied that the cup was completely leak-free.

Soda was another example of something he treated as a meal that was not actually by any stretch of the imagination a meal.

It did the trick though, filling him with so much sugar that it was impossible to have an appetite afterwards, and he was still riding the high of it when he pulled into the parking lot across the street from the hotel two hours later. He paid their ghastly fee whistling happily. Nothing, not even exorbitant parking fees, was going to bring him down today.

It was dark out, being the middle of winter, but the night was clear and crisp, and Erik liked that too. He grabbed the flowers and his bag, slinging it over one shoulder so it would be easy to drop once he was with Charles.

That reminded him: he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed up the man.

The professor must have been someplace private, hopefully alone, too, because he answered the phone with a sultry "Hello, love, calling to have me fuck you over the phone?"

"For someone with such a demure accent you sure are dirty," Erik laughed.

"I know. When I get back you'll have to wash my mouth out with soap."

"Not me, I like it," Erik replied. "So, I take it I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Nah," Charles replied. "It's just me and the hooker and he doesn't talk much."

Erik rolled his eyes and Charles asked "Where are you? It sounds loud."

"I'm on the street. Hang on, I'm just going inside now," Erik replied, and shifted the flowers to the crook of his arm so he could open the hotel door. "Can you hear me now?"

"Loud and clear. _So_ , let me live vicariously through you: what are you doing tonight? Are you going to the bar? Do a line of shots in my honor."

"No, I'm going to have a quiet night." Erik hoped this turned out to be an exorbitant lie as he walked down the hallway on his right. He wanted anything but a quiet night tonight. This suit was not made for quiet nights.

"Don't! We can't both of us have quiet nights--it'll put the whole world out of tilt. We have to even out. I'm going to have a boring night looking at lab data and writing note cards. You're going to do a line of shots at Finnigan's and accidentally go home with a brunet."

"That happened to me one time and I was scarred for life. Never again," Erik moaned as he ducked into the stairwell. He didn't want to risk the elevator giving him away.

"Are you echoing? And in any case: that worked out okay for you. The brunet didn't end up being so bad."

"I'm in the storage room," Erik replied hastily, exiting at the third floor. "Is that better?"

"Quite."

The hallway was quiet and empty, and Erik made his voice low just in case Charles would be able to hear him in the hall.

"It's just you and the hooker in there, right? I should have mentioned it earlier, but I'm a jealous boyfriend."

"If that were true, you'd be jealous of my hooker. And why are we whispering?" Charles whispered back.

"The kids are young and impressionable: they don't need to hear about hookers," Erik said, and knocked on Charles' hotel door.

"I don't--hold on, someone's at my door. Can I call you back?"

"Have the hooker answer it."

"Ha ha, I'll talk to you soon," Charles said, and hung up.

 _Sooner than you think_ , Erik thought, and put his phone away.

"Who is it?" Charles' voice rang out through the door. Erik hadn't counted on this. He couldn't say anything or it would give it away...

Erik kept his mouth shut and knocked again. He could hear muffled cursing, and then Charles was opening the door.

In the two seconds that took, Erik was suddenly panicking.

 _What the fuck was he doing?_ He had practically zero boyfriend experience. Was this cute or was it stalking? Jean thought it was cute but she was not a homosexual man—maybe there were different standards. In the movies it was definitely cute. But this wasn't the movies, and just like he couldn't sprint his way onto an airplane to confess his love to some passenger, maybe he could not actually follow his boyfriend to hotel rooms two cities over during important science conferences.

By then the door was open though, and he was staring nervously into Charles' bright blue eyes, huge with surprise, as the other man simply _gaped_ at him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik's luck doesn't really improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY.

Erik opened his mouth to apologize profusely and swear to never stalk Charles anywhere ever again, if only he would not call the police or, worse, dump him. But there was suddenly a brunet attached to his mouth, as Charles lunged into a kiss that about split Erik's lip against his teeth again.

Really, though, he didn't give a fuck about his lips’ well-being so long as they were still well enough to kiss Charles back just as desperately. He gave a mental _fuck it_ to whoever might walk into the hallway at this moment and wrapped both arms around the smaller man's waist, damning the flowers that prevented him from getting a fistful of clothing the way Charles was doing to the jacket at his shoulders.

He didn't have to ignore possible passerbyes for long as the professor almost immediately used his grip to drag Erik stumbling into the room.

The taller man fished his leg behind himself distractedly to kick the door shut, and threw the ignored flowers down wherever they happened to land along with his bag, using his new-found freedom to yank Charles' black sweater immediately up his frame. He gripped warm flesh and complacently allowed Charles to manhandle him wherever he would.

Which apparently meant the bed.

Charles was smaller, but damnit, he was strong, and he shoved Erik onto his back on the mattress easily before clamoring on top of him.

"What about the hooker?" Erik gasped from beneath the delicious weight of him.

Charles laughed breathlessly into his mouth and said, "He was no good. You can be my hooker now."

Erik had no idea why that concept was hot to him, but it was, and he grabbed Charles desperately by the waist, grinding the smaller man against himself. When that wasn't enough he flipped them over so he could be on top, slipped between the welcoming legs, pressed down hard.

Charles didn't seem to mind this in the slightest, his blunt nails scraping through Erik's hair, along his skull and over the back of his neck, dulled by his heavy jacket but still clutching strongly. His mouth kept up a frontal assault in the meantime, lips slick and sliding over Erik's, tongue hot and exploring, domineering even in his prone position.

Things were, on a whole, an overload of perception and Erik's mind could not process it all fast enough: the writhing of the man beneath him, his breathless groaning, his furious lips taking his breath away, his strong, sure hands _everywhere_.

Erik tried to pull away, to let time slow back down, to let his mind put things in their proper order, but Charles wouldn't let him. He had him gripped by the jacket-front now and was working his mouth single-mindedly. Erik realized the brunet's legs were wrapped around his hips. There was no chance of escape. Somehow, he managed to work an arm between their crushed bodies, press his palm hard against Charles' breastbone and push enough for the other man to realize he wanted a breather.

Charles broke away immediately, his hair fanned out on the creamy bedspread as he unhooked his legs and dropped his head back. Erik loved the effect: the nearly-black hair, the blown-wide eyes, the panting, kissed-red lips, the long pale neck. He followed Charles forward and kissed him soundly, but slowly. _I don't want to stop,_ he tried to say with his lips. _I just don't want to rush. Don't rush._ He could feel the other man's heart hammering into the palm of his hand through his sweater, through the thin T-shirt beneath his sweater and marveled at it, at everything.

Charles reached up and framed Erik's face with his palms, deepening their kiss and Erik allowed it so long as the deepening was still slow. He wondered at the fact that he could prefer the taste of someone else's mouth to his own, to anyone else's.

He wrapped his arms around Charles' ribs, snaking one hand up so it was in Charles' long brown hair, and the brunet moved his arms around Erik's shoulders, pulling him close, rocking their hips together insistently. He put his hand up under Charles' dual tops, stroking his smooth skin, gripping it. Charles groaned into his mouth, his hips surging up. The smaller man bent his knees and gripped Erik's hips tightly between his thighs. Things were speeding up again but Erik decided there were worse things than letting this speed up.

Especially when Charles leaned in and panted directly into his ear,

"I want you to fuck me, Erik."

He had to pull back and press his hand to his diaphragm to work it manually for a couple seconds in order to breathe through his paralysis.

"You do?" his mouth said, although he hadn't told it to.

Charles laughed at him, but Erik smiled instead of blushed. It had been funny, and Charles wasn't laughing _meanly_ at him. He wasn't sure the man was capable of laughing meanly.

"Did you bring any condoms along with your lovely flowers?" Charles said on a moaning sort of sigh, releasing Erik's waist and running his heels along the back of Erik's thighs.

Erik stared at him blankly.

"I thought you were on the pill," he joked but Charles only raised an expressive eyebrow at him, as if to say ‘My painful erection does not find your sense of humor very amusing at the moment.’

Erik continued seriously, reaching up to caress Charles' hair back, "We don't really need one of those, do we?"

"We most certainly do!" Charles balked. "At least babies are cute: STDs don't even have that going for them. You're lucky you have such a slutty boyfriend who always comes prepared."

And he pushed Erik off of him and limped stiffly to his duffel bag.

Erik sighed and collapsed onto his back, watching Charles as he rummaged through his bag.

"What are you doing carrying condoms around everywhere you go? You've got a boyfriend now." It was the most flippant way he knew to say ‘You better not be fucking cheating on me already, Xavier. I might not have friends stacked up behind me threatening to castrate you in the event of heart-break, but I can do it just as well myself.’

Charles gave him a withering glance.

"Girls carry pads around even when they're not on their period, and I carry condoms even though I don't plan on having sex. It's a good thing, too, since my new boyfriend seems to enjoy showing up in unexpected places."

Erik managed to blush at that, but smiled when Charles gave a triumphant cry and pulled out one free ticket to sex-ville, wrapped in its perfect blue plastic.

"How do you know what girls carry around?"

"I have a sister who over-shares," Charles grinned, examining the packet.

But then Charles' face fell, and even though he didn't know why, Erik's fell with it.

When Charles looked at him after a painful second, he was practically on the verge of tears.

" _IT'S EXPIRED!_ " he wailed and collapsed where he sat, rolling on the floor and renting his clothing in misery.

Erik couldn't help it, even though it meant his doom, he laughed uproariously.

"Oh, shut up, you!" Charles cried, jumping up immediately. His face was red with anger and he started snatching at things around the room as if it were their fault: his gray jacket, his wallet, his room key, his cell phone. "I'm going get more. _Lots_ more. You make yourself presentable."

"What's presentable?" Erik questioned, wiping away mirthful tears.

" _Stark fucking naked,_ " Charles growled onto his mouth before kissing him soundly with more tooth than was necessary and running from the room.

Erik sighed happily, laying back on the bed. These were his last few minutes as the Erik that had _not_ had sex with Charles. In a short while, he would be in a brand new club: People Who Had Slept with Charles Xavier. Erik realized he had no clue how large of a club this was... For the moment he would go along with his blissful ignorance and dutifully think of it as a very exclusive club indeed.

He grinned and sat up, slipping off his heavy jacket, kicking off his shoes and laying both items neatly on the floor before folding his socks on top of them and adding his belt after a second for aesthetics. He snapped a photo on his phone and sent it to Charles.

 _God damn you,_ the man texted back automatically. _I'm going to tally up all these teasings and take them out on your backside when I return._

Erik grinned happily and tried to rub the ache out of his breastbone from where his heart kept hammering against it.

Someone knocked on the door just as he was slipping out of his suit jacket and Erik glanced at it uncaringly. The thought of getting Charles into the sack made everything else seem woefully unimportant, so it was with strict disinterest that he eased up off the bed and answered the door.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik's luck improves. Part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to state this here before everything gets down and dirty: in the next few chapters Erik and his lovely lover make happy use of Vaseline as lube. Real people having real sex with real condoms should never do this, just a heads up. The reason this eccentricity is involved at all will be cleared up in the future. With that: on to the smut!

The man, hand poised to knock again, looked ecstatic for exactly one moment before he saw who it was, and then just looked confused. They spent a couple seconds exchanging studious glances.

He was an older man-maybe in his fifties, with straight black hair heavily streaked with gray, especially at the temples. Very tall and very thin, he looked as if someone had taken a normal-sized man and simply stretched him out an extra foot or so. He was dourfully academic-looking. Colleague, Erik’s mind labeled him automatically.

"Can I help you?" Erik asked easily. The man had finished his catalogue of Erik's state and his confusion was still in full force. Erik could imagine why: he was barefoot but otherwise immaculately clothed. He was dressed impeccably, but definitely rumpled. If his lips weren't kissed red, slick and swollen, maybe even split, then it was a miracle. The man cleared his throat and said, "I must have the wrong room."

Erik nodded readily. This was definitely the best plan of action for as long as Erik didn't know who this man was. For all he knew the guy was the Dean, or at least someone of some importance to Charles’ job. He didn't want Charles to get into any kind of trouble for having him over, and somehow he didn't think the university had rented out this hotel room for Charles to fuck his boyfriend. This was a business trip. Unless Charles' business was sex (and he didn't think the duties of Biology professor stretched quite that far) he should not be having sex in his business accommodations.

So Erik tried to think of something that would assure the man he definitely did have the wrong room, with no Charles Xavier in any sort of vicinity. He couldn't come up with anything, so he just said goodnight and closed the door quickly before the man figured out the truth on his own.

Afterwards, Erik listened to make sure the guy had walked off, and then stripped off his suit jacket and waist coat, folding them neatly and sending the photo to Charles.

He managed through his shirt and even pants, but before he could get to his underwear Charles was crashing through the door.

"You bloody blighter," he growled (admirable job, really, Erik was obviously rubbing off on him) and tackled Erik onto the bed. "You're so awful!" he hissed between kisses, pulling Erik's hair, scratching him as he went for his briefs. Erik worked just as frantically to bring Charles up to speed in the lack-of-clothing department. After a short struggle Erik managed to land himself on top of the brunet and Charles let him keep his victory.

Thus triumphant, Erik slid back so he was straddling Charles' thighs and started pulling clothing from him--first the jacket, yanking it down, off the man's arms, before shoving the sweater and T-shirt all the way up, reaching around to Charles' shoulders to pull the fabric up over his head and off him completely.

He was immediately distracted by so much skin and collapsed down again to run his mouth over it, from the thrumming of the man's jugular all the way down to his navel. Sprouting a new hatred for clothing of all types, Erik cursed out the pants Charles was wearing and tried to get his hands to be steady enough to handle a belt and a thin button.

"You're speaking German," Charles pointed out in a panting voice, gasping when Erik accidentally palmed the cock currently straining at the fabric of his pants.

"Sorry," Erik growled, yanking the smooth gray slacks off Charles' long legs in one impatient tug.

"No, I like it," Charles sighed, legs flexing as he pulled Erik close again with his heels.

" _Tu es sûr que tu préfères pas le français?_ "

" _Ouai, j'suis sûr,_ " Charles laughed.

Erik was going to snark back, but Charles' hips rolled beneath him, hit him just so, and he couldn't speak. He realized Charles' underwear had somehow escaped his clothing pogrom and growled.

"You still have yours, why can't I keep mine?" Charles said, not allowing Erik to answer as he kissed him ravenously.

Erik decided the rest could wait, at least until Charles needed to come up for air. In the meantime, he let his hands roam across his newly-freed lands: the broad expanse of back, the smooth hips, tight and coiling with each rolling thrust, thighs taut and muscular, arse none the less so. Charles was hard beneath him, and Erik shivered with the thought that he had yet to see this elusive cock, yet to feel it bare and hot in his hand.

He _had_ to remedy this.

Pinning both hips to the mattress, Erik grabbed two fistfulls of fabric and pulled away, bringing the briefs with him till they could be tossed to the floor. He moved to mold himself back over the brunet, but a foot to his stomach stopped him.

"You too, now," Charles demanded breathlessly, lounging back as comfortably as if he were fully clothed. Erik had never seen anyone so absolutely unfazed by nudity and the mere sight of such a feat made his cock twitch against its confines. He tried to swallow but his mouth was so dry, and his tongue felt so thick. His fingers fumbled with the hem of his underwear, but he got it eventually and shoved them off, pushing Charles' foot out of his way

The brunet got up to kneel on the bed, staring up at him in wide-eyed happiness, wrapping his arms around Erik's thin waist.

"You're so gorgeous," he beamed, as if proud of himself for finding such a handsome man to fuck him.

Erik grinned back, blushing with the flattery, and held his face still to kiss him, sweeping his tongue against Charles' lips for access. He couldn't explain that no one, not a single person in his entire thirty-five years of living had ever called him _gorgeous_ before, so he let his kissing do his talking for him and let it explain how grateful he was to have someone like Charles in his life now to flatter him and get him off.

He wasn't sure if Charles got it or not, but he didn't have _that_ much time to consider it as Charles leaned back and collapsed the both of them flat onto the bed.

Erik couldn't help himself, he pulled away and looked down to see their cocks throbbing together between them. He felt proud and lucky and horny as _fuck_ all at once.

"In my coat pocket," Charles rasped into his ear, nuzzling. "Go--get it."

He followed this good advice, rolling to the edge of the bed and scrambling for Charles' jacket, nearly tearing out the pocket as he snatched at the goodies there: a plastic packet of condoms, a travel-sized container of Vaseline.

"They don't have KY at gas stations these days? What's the world coming to?" he questioned as he lay on his back and started working at the plastic package.

"I'm an old-fashioned boy," Charles opined, rolling closer and taking the slip of condoms from him, biting them open in one practiced move. He undid the individually wrapped sheaths with his hands though.

"Don't want to ruin one by accident," he explained, seeing Erik's disappointed glance.

There was no room, no will-power, for disappointment, though, when Charles swept his hand down and gripped Erik's firmly by the base of his cock.

Erik couldn't help it, he cried out hoarsely and his head kicked back completely of its own accord. He tried to lift it back into place--after all, he would much prefer watching Charles put this condom on him rather than lying there gaping at the bland white ceiling. But his body somehow wasn’t following any of his advice or preferences, and so his head stayed put despite his wishes.

So instead he just closed his eyes and focused on the blissful _feel_ of it, Charles' hands on him, so _sure_ and precise, as they dragged the condom expertly down his cock.

"Oh my," Charles murmured, and it didn’t sound like a good ‘oh my’ so Erik had to look. Exerting amazing personal will-power, he shoved himself up on his elbows and dragged his head into proper position.

" _What have you done to me?_ " he gaped, staring down at his cock, now bubble-gum pink.

Charles frowned and grabbed the condom package again, rubbing his bottom lip as he read.

"Apparently you now taste like strawberries," he said, and Erik opened his mouth to shout at him that _he did not **want** to taste like strawberries_ , but the words were drowned out by a moan that dropped him back to the bed like a sack of flour as Charles leaned over and sucked him fully into his mouth.

The professor stopped as suddenly as he had started, pulling back with a grimace and wiping his tongue off on the roof of his mouth.

"Ugh, that is _not_ strawberries," he groused.

" _You did this_ ," Erik gasped--he had meant to growl, but gasping was all that was available to him after _that_ move.

Charles pouted. "I did not. I was distracted. You were distracting me."

Erik didn't have the patience for arguments at the moment though. He lunged up and claimed Charles' rosy mouth domineeringly in payback. The man tasted like latex and preteen strawberry perfume now--truly abysmal. Charles didn't disagree.

"I'll need to rinse this taste out of my mouth, I think, before you enjoy kissing me again."

Erik didn't know what he meant, was about to suggest they go brush their teeth or something, when Charles pushed him down onto the bed and started sucking on his neck.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Part II takes place!

The man continued on from there when he met no resistance, moving to straddle Erik's thighs and working his way down. He licked and kissed Erik's collarbone and where his collarbones met, then his breastbone; he claimed first one nipple and then the other, licked his ribs and his navel, breathed into the coarse hairs below, and then studiously avoided his aching cock, prominent and neon pink.

"Fucking hell," Erik hissed, reaching up and grabbing two fistfulls of bedding to avoid shaking Charles into being less of a tease. When the other man chuckled the hot breath coiled over Erik's balls and he turned his head to gnaw on the flesh of his arm rather than cry out. It was a good thing, too, because when Charles put his mouth on him, so right _there_ , even his own flesh had a hard time muffling his moans.

His man must have been confused by the muffling: he pulled back, skimming his body up Erik's until he was close enough to push the taller man's arm out of his mouth.

"Stop that, love, before you hurt yourself," Charles admonished.

Erik took this opportunity to grip the other man's body tight to him.

"Don't tease me, _mein Gör_ : let me inside you already," Erik growled to his face. Charles smiled down at him and rocked his body on top of his, rubbing them together deliciously, then spreading his legs over Erik to do it all over again.

Erik's head dropped back again, his eyes losing focus as he spouted more German, mindlessly. He had had enough, he knew he had, and luckily Charles agreed. One last grind for old time's sake and he pulled off his discombobulated partner and scrounged around for the lube.

"Up and onward: to the pillows," Charles directed when he returned, and smacked Erik lightly to get him going. Once Charles' words were translated, he complied, dragging himself backwards up to the pillows and collapsing back again for Charles to kneel beside him and kiss him.

"You want to get me ready?" Charles whispered against his lips. It took a few seconds for Erik to focus past how much he loved feeling Charles' words on his skin and actually understand the meaning of the words he was saying.

"Ready for what?" he mumbled.

"For the next presidential election--what do you think, for what?" Charles laughed. He stopped when he realized it wasn't the imminent sex addling Erik's mind: the guy really had no idea what Charles was talking about.

"Well, if you want me to take _this_ up the arse you'll have to stretch me out first," Charles explained, stroking Erik's cock lovingly as he spoke. Erik put a stop to that immediately before he was too far gone.

"Oh, that," Erik said knowingly. He had had a few men before, after all, who had insisted on it. If Charles wanted it he certainly wouldn't begrudge the man his preferences. "Lie back."

Charles collapsed back eagerly, bending his knees and spreading his legs and grinning up at Erik like this was some joy rather than a hassle of a preliminary to the main event.

Erik tore at the tight plastic protection of the slick and finally got the damn thing open. Slicking up one finger he slid it into the other man quickly.

"Ah!" Charles cried out, but Erik didn't know if it was a good cry or a bad cry. The man hadn't told him to stop though, so he quickly added another finger. "God!" Was that a good God or a bad God? Erik frowned. The sooner this was over with the sooner he could move on to what he had more experience with. With _that_ he could tell a good God from a bad God, he was sure of it.

So he pulled his hand away and slicked up three fingers, but he had barely gotten between Charles' legs when the brunet shoved his hand away and cried "Don't you even think about it!"

"What?" Erik asked in confusion as Charles sat up on the pillows. "You said to get you ready."

"Yes, but," Charles slowed down, looking as bewildered as Erik felt. "But that was...you need to slow down."

Erik's face fell, he could feel it. Why did Charles want to draw this out?

"You want to make me feel good, don't you?" Charles whispered, climbing almost directly into Erik's lap. The taller man grabbed him with the hand not currently greased up to high heaven and grinned widely.

" _Yes_ ," Erik enthused.

"This will make me feel so good," Charles sighed against his lips before brushing a kiss there, on his cheek, at the angle of his jaw, rolling his hips under Erik’s grasp.

" _This?_ " Erik asked skeptically.

"Mmhmm," the professor hummed, dropping his head to kiss Erik's shoulder.

Erik smiled dotingly. "If you say so."

"Mmmmm--just do exactly as I say, all right?" Charles sighed happily, falling back onto the bed again. As Charles arranged himself anew, Erik nodded doubtfully and awaited orders.

"Now, one finger-- _slow_."

Erik did as he was told, held Charles' one knee with his free hand for balance and eased forward just one slicked finger, pressed it in so slowly he couldn't help but think this would take up half the night. When he was in to the knuckle, free fingers curled close to the bedspread, he looked up to see how Charles was taking it.

The man seemed perfectly pleased, not impatient in the least. He smiled at Erik encouragingly and reached out to rub his shoulder.

"Good," he sighed. "Very good. Now two. Slow."

So Erik pulled out till he was just skimming the man's hole, and added a second finger, just to the first joint.

"So good, so good, so good," Charles sighed, and Erik didn't think he was being facetious. The man's eyes were closed, his head thrown back against the pillows, his free hand palming the covers like a lover. Erik didn't like that. _He_ was his lover. If the guy was going to palm anything it should be him.

To regain the man's attention he pressed in further, to the second knuckle now. Charles opened his eyes, looking at him disapprovingly, but didn't say anything about not listening to directions. Erik just grinned back at him, and wiggled his fingers, more to be amusing than because he thought it was going to do anything to the man.

But Charles gave a stilted sort of moan, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he gulped.

"Deeper," he gasped. "Go deeper--and move-- _move_ again."

Erik pressed in all the way and curled his fingers before twisting them in as near a full circle as his wrist would allow, and then back again. He nearly had to catch the brunet as his spasm jolted him almost clear off the bed. "Again, again!" Charles wailed, but when Erik did it again he just shook his head petulantly.

"Deeper--please please please deeper," he gasped. Erik pressed in as far as he could, pressed in and out, fucking the man with his fingers. He couldn't resist his newfound enthusiasm: no one had ever reacted to his fingers this way. The closest approximation to his feeling as this moment was 'godlike'. He had gone through his whole life without fully realizing it, but apparently his fingers were magic.

Charles was scrabbling at his shoulder and obviously had no idea what he was doing. When Erik twisted, wrist up, curled his fingers further, reamed him again, the man moaned wantonly, his hips bucking as he tried to impale himself deeper on Erik's fingers.

"What do you think?" Erik asked, and realized that his mouth was stone dry. "Time for three?"

"Three, three, yes, three," Charles moaned, but Erik wasn't sure the man had any idea what he was saying.

"Maybe we'll just move on to the whole fist," he tested. But Charles slit his eyes open and glared down at him.

"I'm not brain-dead, just enjoying myself; now where's that three?"

Erik grinned back at him and slid in three. He looked carefully and tried to gauge: was this about how much his cock was going to stretch the brunet? Maybe, at the base of his knuckles, it could be...He tried to press in all the way but Charles stopped him.

"Not yet," the man sighed. "Twist."

Erik tried to lick some moisture into his lips but his mouth had nothing to share. He gulped dryly and did as he was told. In just a couple more minutes Charles was pushing himself completely on to Erik and begging him to push back.

"You're ready now, I think," Erik suggested, which got Charles' blinking attention.

"Oh, right, yes," he said, pushing Erik's hand away and kneeling up shakily, looking especially boneless, which caused Erik to ask "Is it really as good as all that?"

Charles smiled at him and scraped his hands through Erik's hair, tilting the man's head back to nip at his jaw.

"You wan' a try?" he slurred against Erik's jugular.

Erik went to say _Maybe another time_ but only got as far as the first word before dryness of his mouth choked him up.

And by then Charles was already shoving him down against the pillows and bending his knees for him.

 _Well,_ Erik mused. _In for a penny, in for a pound._


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things continue to go Erik's way, PI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another reminder: don't couple condoms and Vaseline at home, kids!

Charles bit his lip as he coated one finger _very_ generously in lube.

"Don't waste all that on this," Erik warned preemptively. "Leave some for the main event."

Charles frowned at him and started up in a lecturing voice, one lubed finger wagging for emphasis, "Don't be ridiculous: there's no main even or opening act. Whatever feels good is the important thing, whether that's fingering or fucking."

"Well I'm here to tell you that if you use all that lube on fingering it's going to be your arse that pays the price when I fuck you."

Charles just grinned through his threat. "Duly noted."

But instead of getting to work immediately, Charles threw his body rather than his fingers into the valley of Erik's legs, kissing Erik soundly on the mouth as if he planned on staying for a while. There appeared to be preliminaries to the preliminaries this evening. Erik tried not to show his impatience. Indeed, couldn't really muster up an excessive amount of impatience as Charles rubbed their cocks together in a way that made it hard to muster up much of anything besides overwhelming lust.

Deciding to settle in for the long haul, Erik went about relaxing his poised legs, but Charles' hand suddenly tight on the back of one thigh stopped him from going very far. Erik had too much tongue in his mouth to ask why he was not allowed to move his legs, but he didn't necessarily want that to be remedied so he didn't try to ask. He didn't really need to ask anyways as the hand roamed up his thigh, then gripped into the flesh, then the cleft of his ass.

"Charles," he couldn't help but gasp as the man simply massaged the aperture of him rather than dip inside. The brunet smiled and bit Erik's lower lip gently, delved his tongue back into Erik's panting mouth while his finger delved into Erik's hole.

Erik could understand now, all of Charles' rocking and moaning before--it was maddening to have that finger only just inside him. He wanted more, and said so.

"Hmm," Charles hummed, as if he would take it under consideration, and moved to suck hard on Erik's neck. Just as Erik was about to complain, though, Charles pressed all the way in. How strange to feel the rest of his hand pressed so close to the outside while his finger was pressed so close on the inside.

"Another, another," Erik groaned, tugging at Charles' shoulders as insistence. Instead, Charles curled his finger, probed, searched. Only afterwards did he pull off the taller man completely, to even more groaning.

"Hang on," Charles chuckled, grabbing for more lube, and Erik was overjoyed to see him grease up two extra fingers rather than just one.

He lay back expectantly, even craning his neck in case Charles wanted to finish up his work there as well. Yet when Charles returned his hand the girth of it was obviously just one finger yet again. If the brunet hadn't initiated a focused onslaught on Erik's nipples at that point he certainly would have gotten a stern talking-to. As it was he got an earful of moans.

"You like that?" the Brit panted against him, his breath a blast of heat against Erik's wet skin on every out-breath and a shiver of cold on every in.

Erik tried to say _'What does it sound like?'_ but he only managed some vague sort of groaning as Charles added another finger into him, slow and smooth, and at the same time licked his way lower, lower.

Mouth on the crease of his hip, Charles curled his fingers and Erik could swear he saw stars. The unintentional buck of his hips dislodged Charles momentarily, but the man soon recovered, reclaiming him and moving his mouth swiftly to very base of Erik's shaft where the condom couldn't sully him, and then to his thrumming balls, pressed into him again firmly with his hand.

Erik couldn't help it: he cried out, definitely loud enough for whoever might have been on the other side of the hotel wall to hear him, arced his back, scrabbled at Charles' skull, trying to drag him closer. Charles untangled Erik's hand from his hair immediately, pulled back from where Erik had shoved him, but didn't release his hand, intertwining their fingers instead.

"Erik," he murmured, and the taller man's head tossed with desperation at _feeling_ his name on Charles' lips. "Erik, I want you inside me."

" _Yes, yes, God yes_ ," Erik croaked readily, already feeling as if another minute of this sort of abuse was going to send him over the edge. Regardless of what Charles said, he firmly believed in a main event, and he didn't want to come before it did.

If he had known that his man was going to take off the moment he got his hands free, though, Erik imagined that he would have opted to rock together for a _few_ more minutes at least.

"Where do you think you're going?" he called out as Charles ran off.

"Be right back!" the brunet insisted, emerging from the bathroom a moment later with a glass of water and a towel, wiping off his greased fingers.

Erik downed the tap-water gratefully, but was immediately back to business when he was done.

"Stay there," Charles said firmly, pushing Erik down with a hand to the chest when he tried to sit up. He was confused for exactly one moment until the other man swung a leg over him, sitting down in his lap, moving him so that his cock twitched against the brunet's sweet cleft.

Charles smiled down at him mischievously and held out the bottle of slick to him. Erik didn't need telling twice. He nabbed it in a flurry and reached over Charles' thigh to coat himself fully, trying to focus past the man currently grinding on top of him.

"Are you ready for this?" the Brit sighed to him rather cheekily.

"Let's find out," Erik replied, and took Charles' towel to wipe his hand before tossing that and the lube off to the side where neither could get in their way.

Charles lifted himself up, reached behind himself and Erik gulped hard and the feel of the man's cool fingers on his stiff and ready cock.

He bit his tongue purposefully and reached under the man, massaging the entrance of him before spreading his fingers to allow his cock through, keeping them there to feel the exact moment the other man's body welcomed him in. He dropped his head back, focused on the dual feelings: the pulsating heat of his cock meeting the slick warmth of Charles' ass, the tingling of his fingertips as they facilitated this meeting, witnessing Charles' slow stretch through nerve-endings alive like a buzz.

He could hear Charles' breathing, or his own breathing, the both of them so soft and quick and gasping that they couldn't be differentiated. Charles' free hand was tense, splayed out on his stomach, and Erik moved his own free hand over it when the man lowered himself slowly, taking Erik firmly into himself.

The constriction of it was amazing—Erik had nearly forgotten how great this could feel. With his fingers still massaging Charles' gradual stretch, he could feel how fully Charles was extending with him. It seemed as if, if there had been another centimeter to Erik, he would have split the man in half. The thought was partly flattering but mostly terrifying, so that Erik didn't dare thrust up into the man, opening his eyes instead to check on Charles.

The brunet saw the flutter from him and glanced, eyes more black with pupil than blue at this point. If his thoughts weren't in step with Erik's then they were at least on the same path because he said, voice strained to softness, "It seems a lot thicker in my arse than it did in my mouth," with a sly grin.

"Is it," Erik questioned, swallowing painfully. "Is it _too_ thick?"

The man's eyes went from awe-inspired to defiant in a flash.

"Please!" he scoffed. "I can take it."

To prove his point, he cleared Erik's hand from under him and leaned back, easing his way down Erik's cock an inch at a time until he was fully seated. Then he sighed pleasurably and positively beamed at his awed boyfriend with incredible pride.

"See? No problem."

Erik nodded, not bothering to argue as he was incapable of thinking, let alone speaking. If he had forced speech, nothing would have come but the litany of his mind: _so tight, so good, so hot, so tight._ So it was probably more conducive to his reputation as a stoic bastard that he say nothing at all.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another Part II.

Rather than sit up and start the slow glide back down all over again, Charles ground into his lap so that Erik could even feel the bony angles of his ass dig into him, getting his attention.

When Erik looked up the other man was grinning down at him, and Erik was stupefied that a person could be so comfortable, so confident, and so completely in their element in an act like this. He instinctively dragged Charles down by the back of the neck to kiss him forcefully.

"Careful," Charles said against his lips. "You'll pull out."

That said, the smaller man pressed his hands to Erik's shoulders and rocked back further onto his shaft, gaining a less precarious hold on it. Erik groaned softly, and although he couldn't work out the mechanics of kissing at a time like this, he managed to lick Charles' lower lip, suck on it, bite it. The professor shivered in his arms and began the slow swaying that slid Erik out to the head and in to the root of him.

Erik felt the distinct urge to watch this, but it felt rude to tell Charles to sit up off of him, so he tried to get it across simply by pushing Charles by the shoulders, gently. The man was apparently psychic, so it worked out well: he pushed himself off by Erik's shoulders and rose up straight. The effect was chilling, suddenly getting to see that full body in exquisite action, the tensing in Charles' lean thighs, his abs, the long line of his throat. His hair was a dark halo and his eyes were piercing even without their striking blue.

Erik swallowed hard and reached forward, running both hands from Charles' sturdy shoulders all the way down, over his smooth chest, his flexing abs, down to his angular hips, and dragged the man down hard onto him.

"Jesus, Erik," the man hissed, but Erik could tell it was a good hiss. The way Charles' hand grasped immediately for his own cock was a hearty giveaway. And Erik had to admit, it was healthful to his ego to see the man so pleased with his cock driving away at that ass.

"You look…mighty, ah, pleased with yourself," Charles chuckled to him. Erik smiled in response, pushing Charles' hand away and taking care of the man himself. He was immediately in love with the ragged, hitching breath his hand on Charles managed to elicit.

"Those lovely—mmmm-- _sounds_ you make make it easy for a man to get immodest," he replied, thrusting upwards just as Charles was pushing himself downwards. The force of it shook Charles to the bones and dragged a wrecked sort of groan from him, like getting the wind knocked out of him was an incredibly erotic sensation.

Erik didn't let up, but dug his heels into the mattress and caught the brunet again on his very next fall, pulling the man further against him by way of a free hand on his hip.

"Oh God, Erik, oh Erik, oh Erik," the little professor moaned, pressing his hand over Erik's on his cock to set a faster pace. The taller man knocked his hand away and continued at his own tempo. It was just as maddening to Charles as the man's own teasings earlier had been to Erik apparently: he shook his head and keened restlessly, drove himself down on Erik with greater rapidity to make up for it.

Erik bit his lip, tried to gain a better purchase on the bed, tried to increase the leverage with which he could properly ream Charles out. It was a frustrating thing to try to achieve in this position, at this angle. He had still yet to hear Charles properly scream out his name. This wasn't the best he could do.

So when Charles lifted himself up on Erik's cock again, the taller man set both hands sturdily on his hips and pushed the brunet the rest of the way off him, shoving him directly to the side.

"What—what?" the Brit gasped, high-pitched with displeasure, but couldn't formulate anything beyond that.

Erik clamored up immediately, kissing the complaints from his lips and wrapping the man's legs around his waist.

Charles responded in kind, gripping his arms around Erik's shoulders and pressing them chest to chest. Tongue happily ensconced in Charles' mouth, Erik reached around the brunet's thigh and tried awkwardly to line himself up to push in again. Finally he had to throw Charles' leg over his arm in order to get the right angle.

His cock slid in much easier the second time around, so that with just a firm flex of his hips he was entrenched fully in Charles' body, the man moaning for the full length of him. He realized it had probably been silly of him to think himself too thick for this. Hopefully he’d be able to fully fuck the memory out of the brunet.

Everything was too shoved together here though: Charles' knee over his elbow, his free leg pressed against Erik's hip, the man's arms around his shoulders: hot breathing, hot skin, slick with sweat; it was all too much. Erik yanked Charles' arms from around him and knelt up, dragging Charles' hips along with him and sitting back on his heels. The back of one thigh was still gripped hard to Erik's chest, but he allowed it in exchange for all of Charles' delicious moans, hitched one on top of the other as Erik drove in sharp and quick: forward and back, forward and back, fast, _fast_.

When Charles started scrabbling at his chest with one hand, Erik slowed back down, leaned over the brunet just slightly for a different angle, pressed back into the man one inch at a time. Back out, nearly to the tip, tried in mild disgust to ignore the expanse of neon-pink visible again, pressed back in, inch by inch, all the way to the base.

Charles threw one arm over his eyes and shook his head back and forth, and cursed him out.

Erik hadn't even fully known that Charles knew such filthy language. This was not the sort of dirty talk that had been promised him, and he said so.

"Really, Charles," he gasped, making sure to fuck the man slowly just to piss him off. "This was not what…what I had expected…when you told me you'd…you'd talk dirty to me."

Charles pulled his arm away so that he could properly glare up at Erik.

"You bastard—fuck me, fuck me," he growled and huffed. Erik grinned back toothily.

"I thought I was," he said.

Something in Charles' blown-wide eyes seemed to focus, and he set his mouth determinedly before reaching up with both hands to grip the headboard. Then he rolled his hips, but it was such an elite form of hip-rolling that Erik stopped breathing for a moment, mouth open and grasping for a breath that wouldn't come.

"Are you going to fuck me now," Charles hissed cheekily. "Or do I have to go up there and do it myself?"

Erik grit his teeth and leaned over the man fully, dragging Charles' leg with him and folding the professor like a lawn chair. The man was disgruntled for exactly one moment before Erik dove in hard, snapping his hips mercilessly at the last and slamming into the man.

"Oh, God!" Charles choked out, throwing his head back, his eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Open them, open them," Erik demanded in a breathless hiss as he continued to grind into the man.

Charles didn't react except to spread his legs wider, or at least the leg Erik hadn't commandeered. Then it germinated in Erik's mind that that _was_ his reaction: the fucker thought Erik was talking about his fucking legs.

"Your _eyes_ , you goddamn bastard— _open your_ _eyes_ ," Erik growled, gripping Charles' cock hard in his fist to get his attention even more fully, completely.

Charles' shuddered a breath and tried to swallow but at this point it was really a choice between breathing _or_ swallowing, and he needed that breath to moan.

Finally he managed to drag his eyes open, staring at Erik in the kind of helpless bliss that came with good sex. Erik couldn't help it: he smiled. Then he pressed forward even harder, enough to reach Charles' lips, even though there wasn't enough breath for _swallowing_ , much less _kissing_. Erik just wanted to breathe there, feel Charles' lips on his, taste them. Charles seemed to agree: he gripped Erik hard by the hair and kept him there by force.

"Erik, Erik," Charles panted into his mouth, licked his lips, nuzzled him. That was enough for any man, and when Charles coupled it with another roll of his hips, with a free leg thrown over Erik's waist to drag him in even deeper, it became _too_ much.

Choking on his own suppressed exclamations, Erik came, thrusting still, digging into Charles with every part of himself, tensed, wrung out like a rag, vision a white blur, body a thrumming compression of muscles, until he was milked absolutely dry.

 Exhausted, panting, shaking with the force of his own orgasm, mind in half a haze, Erik struggled to keep himself upright enough to not collapse painfully onto Charles. Only when he slipped off to the side of him and saw that hand still toiling on manfully did he realize that he had somehow neglected Charles' own orgasm.

"Fuck—let me," he said, lending his own hand into the mix. Then he thought that Charles deserved much more than that—and after all, if the other man could do it, then so could he.

So he slid down lower on the bed and climbed between Charles' legs.

"What—what are you-?" the man gasped, that high-pitch back again, this time out of desperation.

Erik just looked back at him slyly from between his thighs and licked his lips, but before he could wrap those lips around anything of importance, Charles' whole body jerked into tenseness and the man cried out, pulse after pulse of pale white fluid wrung from him.

Erik couldn't help the slight frown of disappointment, although he recovered from it before Charles could see straight enough to notice. It was just that he had rather gotten his hopes up in the last two seconds—he had already set his mind on the idea of sucking Charles off, and he had rather a determined mind.

So he shrugged purposefully and pushed away Charles' come-streaked hand before taking his wet cock into his mouth.

"Oh my God," Charles rasped. "What are you doing? Oh God."

Erik didn't bother to reply. He figured it was mostly obvious at this point what he was doing.

He didn't have much experience with this sort of thing: he could count the individual times another cock had been in his mouth on one hand, and didn't even require all his fingers for it. Yet he couldn't help but think that none of those other cocks had felt so at home on his tongue, or that another man's come had ever tasted so natural.

When he imagined the other man was successfully cleaned off he opted to spend another few moments at the job, out of pure enjoyment of it. Then he pulled away and licked his lips and grinned up at his man, faltering when he saw Charles' stunned face staring down at him.

"Was that okay?" he asked, unsure if this was a good-stunned or a bad-stunned.

"I think I'm in love," Charles gaped back, but he laughed when he saw Erik's shocked expression. "Get up here. I want to taste myself on you," he grinned, and pulled Erik up by his chin until they were kissing, Erik's spine shivering with the thought that Charles was licking his own come off Erik's tongue.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked, brushing back Charles' damp hair.

"I taste all right, I suppose," Charles chuckled. That wasn't good enough for Erik, though. He shook his head argumentatively.

"You taste amazing," he corrected. Charles dropped his head back onto the pillows and smiled up at him sweetly, bonelessly, breathlessly.

"I'm glad you like it," he said. Erik returned his smile. That was a bit better. Charles reached up a hand and traced Erik's mouth with his fingertips. It felt nice so Erik didn't put a stop to it, closing his eyes instead. Sex was exhausting work.

"Are you tired?" Charles murmured, sounding just as half-asleep as Erik felt. The taller man nodded dreamily.

"Would you like to sleep with me?" Charles continued. Erik eased his eyes open into slits and nipped at one of the fingers near his mouth, capturing it easily in his teeth. _What do you think?_

"Well, you can stay—but your awful 'strawberry' condom has to go."

Erik laughed out. He had nearly forgotten.

"C'mon," he sighed, slipping off the bed. "Let's get cleaned up."

He helped Charles off the bed, guiltily thrilled with the way the man walked tenderly to the bathroom with him.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, and tried to sounds 100% guilty rather than only 60%. By the sideways glance Charles gave him he wasn't sure if the brunet believed entirely in his sincerity.

" _No_ ," the man drawled back. "You were a bit _zealous_ , towards the end, but I'm fine."

Erik grinned sheepishly and rubbed the younger man's back. "I'll be more careful, next time," he promised.

"Don't be. I won't be careful with you, when I have you," the other man taunted. He was nervous for exactly one moment: he’d had careless lovers in the past and it was one of the reasons Erik planned on holding out for as long as he could as far as bottoming went. But then he remembered that this was Charles they were talking about. The Brit might be careless when it came to shooting hard alcohol, but carelessness with another human being was a feat that was far beyond him.

Even now he eased his hand gently down Erik's body, all the way to his cock, where he peeled the condom off him carefully.

"Strawberry everything is hereby banned from our bedroom," the man said bitterly.

" _You_ did it," Erik argued, soaking a washcloth while Charles disposed of the latex.

"If either of us is to blame then we're both to blame," Charles insisted. Erik smiled at him and plastered the washcloth over his face. Charles crossed his arms over his bare chest, and glared fully _through_ the white cotton. He couldn't keep it up though as Erik moved and scrubbed over his neck and shoulders.

"Damn you, that feels good," he sighed. Erik laughed, but he had to stop and agree once Charles got his own washcloth and showed him, in an especially hands-on manner, exactly how it felt.

"Are you _purring_?" Charles asked in disbelief.

"Shut up," Erik purred, shivering with pleasure as Charles scrubbed his back.

"I don't know why people call you a shark, when you're so obviously a cat," Charles sighed.

"I'll be _Katze_ if you'll be _Mausi_ ," Erik grinned. Charles grinned right back.

" _Schöen gut_ , _Kätzchen_."

"No, _Katze,_ not…damn it, Charles."


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik has a good morning, and makes sure Charles has one too.

Erik was yanked awake with the ear-splitting clang of the hotel phone going off, and, even more jarring, the warm mattress surging up under him.

Heart beating fast with confusion, he splayed a hand out to right himself and opened his eyes. Between the two of them, his touch and his sight, he soon figured things out: his mattress was actually the back of Charles' shoulder, and the surging was the smaller man answering the phone. If grabbing and dropping the receiver back onto the hook could be called 'answering'.

That done, the brunet sighed hugely and stretched, body uncurling from under Erik and spanning out to its full length.

"Push up," the man murmured, and when Erik lifted off abidingly, Charles turned over under him.

Erik didn't let it dissuade him: he dropped back down as soon as Charles was settled, pressing his face into Charles' throat and wrapping his arm around the Brit's chest.

"Who was calling?" Erik questioned, his voice gravelly with sleep. Charles pulled the covers up around his shoulder and ran his fingers through Erik's hair, making him purr anew.

"Just my wake-up call, _Katzchen_."

Erik frowned and nipped at the man's skin in remonstrance.

"That again. Since when do you speak German?"

"I don't really. I know a few words, that's all," Charles chuckled.

"Like kitten?" Erik scoffed.

"Well, I might have done some research recently into pet-names. I thought you might prefer something a bit more homey."

"You thought wrong. I like 'darling' just fine."

"Really? You don't think it embarrassingly old-fashioned?"

Erik shook his head and reached up to pet Charles' hair. It crinkled in his fingers, but he didn't mind its state.

“I think you’re the only person who’s ever called me that. I like it.”

"I have to take a shower," Charles murmured, but he didn't sound quite awake enough yet to put his will into action. So Erik just tilted his head and started to suck on the brunet's neck gently. Charles shivered under him.

"Erik. Erik, don't," he sighed, but that didn't much daunt the taller man. He kept on, stroking Charles' hair, his cheek. He could feel Charles' pulse pick up against his tongue and that was the point of no return for him. He nudged the man's legs apart slightly with his knee and stroked down, over his neck and across his smooth chest, down the skin of his stomach that hitched with his touch, following the coarse line of hair that led him on certainly.

He didn't want to bother trying to find the lube again, so he simply pulled back enough to spit into his hand. Charles grabbed his wrist, preventing him from moving back to his quickly stiffening cock.

"Erik, no," he gasped. The taller man kissed him decisively until he was convinced to let go of his wrist, and then gripped him gently under the covers. When Charles was gasping and groaning, Erik moved back to his throat again, alternating between soft bites and hard sucks.

A few minutes later, when those hitching breaths came back, thin and one on top of the other, Erik pulled back to watch his handiwork.

As much as he had of course enjoyed himself last night, there was something wonderful about watching Charles like this, with no orgasm of his own to distract him from the sight. So he leaned up on his shoulder, Charles' hand scrabbling at the back of his neck, and watched intently as the man quickly lost it.

When Charles could manage to stop panting he'd hold his breath long enough to lick or bite his lip, just a momentarily loss of air. His eyes were clasped shut, but when Erik told him to open them he did, staring blindly. The pupil overwhelmed the iris, but Erik could still see the thin line of pale blue, and wished that eyes were a thing that could be kissed and touched the same as lips.

Then Charles' nails were biting into his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut again, and his head tossed back, mouth open even though the man was definitely holding his breath. The slide of Erik's hand over him was suddenly much easier, and Erik sighed, realizing he had been holding his breath as well.

"I don't know whether you're amazing or evil, getting me off like that this early in the morning," Charles said when he could speak again, voice still thin and wavery.

"Maybe I'm just amazingly evil," Erik suggested happily, wiping his hand on the sheets in his amazing evilness.

"Nobody who makes me come that hard can be too evil," Charles argued, and pinned Erik with his eyes approvingly so that the man actually blushed.

He pressed his face against Charles' chest to hide it. Something wet smeared across his brow and he pulled back in confusion, was met instantaneously with Charles' pealing laughter.

"Oh my, darling," he chuckled, wiping come off Erik's eyebrow with his thumb. Erik scrubbed the rest of it away himself, frowning.

"You're laughing at me," he said bitterly. Charles stopped immediately, but couldn't keep himself from smiling.

"I'm happy," he replied.

"You're happy seeing come on my face?" Erik had meant it as a bad thing, but the way Charles' eyes lit up showed that he rather viewed it as a sort of enjoyable foreplay.

"Yes," he hissed, turning Erik onto his back with one arm and kissing him intently.

"You'll be late," Erik reminded happily. It overjoyed him that a man could be so wrapped up in him as to need reminding.

"Damn it," Charles growled against his lips. "Let me finish you off at least, before I go."

But Erik pushed Charles' hand away from where it reached towards his alert cock.

"No. I can do it myself."

"Maybe, but you shouldn't have to."

Erik didn't know how to explain that his body just wasn't used to coming twice within 24-hours, so he simply said "No" again.

"I said no, too," Charles pouted. "I didn't see you listening to me."

"You didn't mean it."

"Didn't I?"

"Did you?"

"Well...at the time..." Charles mumbled vaguely. Erik ignored him.

"But hey, you're the experienced rapist. Have at it."

Charles frowned at him petulantly. "At least share the shower with me."

"So I can fend you off there instead of here? I'll keep my virtue intact, thanks."

"You sexless prude," Charles teased. "Since when are you so interested in your virtue?"

"Since when are you such a sex-crazed freak?"

Erik had meant it as a joke, but Charles' brows jumped up wish shock, his eyes wide and actually looking rather hurt.

“I don’t think that’s very kind,” the man huffed, pulling away from him. Erik followed him up but couldn’t manage to stop him from getting out of the bed, moving with an awkward sort of flurry that was completely like him.

"What? What did I say? I don't--I was only teasing," Erik said, staring anxiously.

Charles shot him a sidewise sort of glare, his lips pinched, dragging on his underwear self-consciously.

"Charles," Erik called, grabbing the man by the hand. "I don't think you're a freak, I don't."

The words didn’t seem to have any impact on him, as if he couldn’t hear him, and the man was obviously about to make a break for it so Erik acted. He yanked on Charles' arm, dragging him back to the bed and wrapping his arms tightly around the smaller man's shoulders in a way that could not be ignored. The man fought him for a second but stilled when he started speaking. "Listen to me, you idiot. I do _not_ think you're a freak. That is the opposite of what I think. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Charles didn't reply, so Erik reached back and shook him by his biceps.

"I-I'm trying," Charles managed to say.

Erik stopped and glared at him hard in the eye.

"What do I _not_ think of you?"

Charles stared back unsteadily. "You...you don't..."

"I _don't_ think you're a freak. Say it."

"You don't think I'm a freak," Charles said, but it sounded rote.

"What do I think of you?"

"You think I'm sex-crazed." That had a bit more of the man's usual fire to it at least.

"And how do I feel about sex-crazed?"

Charles blinked, trying to work it out. Finally he gave his confident, crooked smile. "You think it gets you off very nicely?"

Erik grinned back. "Very nicely indeed," he agreed, kissing Charles surely. "Now, go wash that come off you before you give your colleagues any ideas."

Charles laughed out and went to gather his things for the shower, cured with the power of Erik’s seduction. He paused at the door though, eyeing Erik nervously. "Listen, I'm sorry-I'm sorry I spazzed out for a second."

"I'm sorry I called you sex-crazed freak. Even if it is half-true."

"Let's call it three-fourths," Charles suggested with a wink, and went to clean up.

"Do let's," Erik whispered happily to himself, and bundled up under the covers again to keep warm now that Charles wasn't there to lend his body heat.

The pillow smelled like Charles' hair and the sheets smelled like his come and Erik started purring happily again, willing himself to forget whatever had just almost marred their morning.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone comes a-knockin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AW JEEZ GUIZE: I'll be off the grid tonight so wanted to post this before I left. Thanks again for all your feedback, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that what I write is mostly legible so it's great to see :)

Erik hadn't realized he'd drifted asleep until he was tugged awake again by the sudden weight added to the bed. By time he convinced his eyes they should open, blunt fingertips were already sliding across his skull, making him smile. He gazed at Charles from the corner of one slit eye and the man smiled back at him, freshly showered and dressed impeccably.

"I don't think your suit enjoyed its night on the floor," he murmured, and it took a few seconds for Erik to remember that he had indeed been wearing a suit yesterday. "I'll bring it down for the hotel to dry clean. Also, you should eat something. Just call room service and charge it to the room. I'll take care of it."

Erik grinned wider and rolled onto his back. "I think I could get used to this hooker gig."

Charles laughed outright and leaned over to nuzzle his cheek affectionately.

"I left your money on the dresser," he murmured into Erik's ear. "I'll call you again when I need you."

"That'll be soon," Erik opined, fighting a hand out of the bedding and stroking the inside of Charles' knee.

"None of that now," Charles chastised. "It's a miracle I'm not late as it is."

They both jerked apart when someone started knocking on the door.

"I thought you said you weren't late."

"I'm not," Charles said in confusion, standing to go to the door.

"Cleaning lady?"

"Not this early," Charles countered and then addressed the door. "Who is it?"

"Charles!" someone called back. "Open up!"

"Fuck," Charles hissed to him. "It's my colleagues from the conference. Just...um...fuck, keep quiet, okay?"

Erik frowned but agreed. He guessed he was right about boyfriends not being acceptable at business conferences.

With the angle of the entry way Erik couldn't see around the corner to the door, but he heard Charles curse again and open it.

"Hey guys--am I la-oh my goodness! Reed!"

"Hello, Charles," a second man said, and Erik sat up. Because he _recognized_ that voice. It was that damned guy from last night. Well, shit, he guessed the guy knew for sure now he hadn't gotten the wrong room.

"What-what are you doing here?" Charles choked. That was a strange question for a colleague. Was the tall man not a colleague then? Erik wished he had more clothes on so he could run up and join in on this interrogation.

"Professor Richards is on the finals committee this year! What a surprise, eh!" the first man said.

"Yeah..." Charles murmured.

"I hope we're not intruding on your morning...?" the man Richards asked as if he were fishing for something.

"N-no. Just, um, let me get my stuff and I'm ready to go," Charles replied.

"We'll wait inside," Richards suggested.

" _No,_ " Charles said quickly. "No, I'll just be a second." And he shut the door before anyone could argue with him.

Erik slipped out of bed to intercept him as he rummaged around the room collecting his belongings.

"What was that about?" he asked, but it was a mistake to ask this out of bed. Charles was completely distracted by his nakedness and grinned wickedly as he wrapped his body fully around Erik's, dragging him down enough to kiss passionately.

It was too much to hope his mind had become acclimated to Charles enough to think beyond the scope of his lithe body, so close. Erik slid his hands over the warm angles of Charles' wool suit, trying just as hard to devour his mouth in return

"Damn it, now I've done it," Charles murmured, rubbing himself slightly where Erik's cock was stiffening with sudden interest.

"Don't worry about me," Erik sighed. "I can take care of myself."

Charles frowned and kissed him once more before grabbing his shoulder bag to go. He turned back again as Erik sat down on the bed.

"Just don't...don't send me any pictures, okay?" he said, glancing nervously between Erik's hand and his cock.

Erik laughed out. "I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."

"Will I see you tonight?" the Brit asked hopefully.

It was hard, but Erik had to shake his head truthfully. "Sunday."

Charles gave a rueful nod. "Fine. Go stock up on lots of unflavored condoms then," he added with a wink. Then he was through the door and gone, leaving Erik with a suddenly very silent hotel room all to himself.

Nervous about new visitors, he got dressed quickly--black jeans and Charles' creamy gray sweater that he had adopted.

He figured he'd eat while the meal was free and started leafing through the hotel menu, turning on the TV for noise. It was amazing: he had always loved his silence, but compared to having Charles in the room this seemed _too_ silent.

He chuckled to himself when he saw what was on the screen: _Casablanca_. Then he snickered and looked around for his phone to send a screenshot to Charles. Damn would this make the man jealous. If he had known that _Casablanca_ was showing, Erik wasn't sure but that the man would have blown off the whole conference.

But he couldn't find his phone.

Eventually he turned the whole room upside searching for it, but all he found was Charles' phone: a sleek black affair similar to his except for the keyboard.

When he realized what this meant, he grinned anew.

The man had taken _his_ phone by mistake. They would need to switch back. He would get to see Charles again before he drove home.

Whistling as he worked, Erik packed up his overnight bag again, remembering those flowers that had somehow gotten passed up completely during the night. He filled the sink with water and stuck them there. It was as much as he could be bothered with them. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he left his suit where Charles had hung it up by the door and jaunted down the staircase to the lobby.

The ballroom was all set up for the conference, and there was a check-in point to keep non-academics firmly out. Luckily, it paid to have a maniacally outgoing boyfriend.

"I'm sorry, you have to be registered," the boy at the check-in had informed him when he first tried to go through.

"I'm just returning a phone. The guy's on the list--Charles Xavier-" but that was as far as he got before the kid started gushing.

"Oh, Professor Xavier! Of course!" the sprite said ecstatically, his voice somehow gaining a rather Southern jibe with his excitement. "Go on through--any friend of the Professor's is free as air!"

Erik didn't think this line of thinking was conductive to the safety of the conference, but it had worked to his favor, so he went with it, slipping through the double doors and immediately searching out his boyfriend.

There were tables set up everywhere with fine dining: it seemed breakfast was supplied. Most of the people were already eating, but Erik figured Charles and his friends hadn't been there long so he searched out the buffet tables.

For the most part the professors there were all older, so Charles was easy to find simply by his full head of hair, free of gray-streaks.

He and that tall guy from last night were standing at the tea and coffee station, deep in conversation. Erik sidled only close enough to keep them in sight, not wanting to interrupt some heated academic debate.

He pulled out Charles' phone, and the thing didn't appear to have any locks because it went straight to the home screen when he pressed on it: a picture of Charles and himself, fall-down-drunk at a bar together, arms around each other’s shoulders. He blushed and searched for his own phone number in the contacts (confused when he didn't find it under Erik, smitten when he located it under Darling Lensherr) and texted it.

_Want to switch back, Mausi?_

He looked back up so he could wave ironically when Charles figured out what had happened and searched him out of the crowd. Richards was gaining the upper hand in their discussion, pointing something out to Charles with his finger domineeringly in the air--the brunet shook his head, refusing to concede the point.

His face went confused when he heard Erik's text tone coming from his pocket, and raised his hand to stop Richards as he grabbed for it.

The tall man did not seem to like this one little bit, and Erik could _feel_ his blood ignite as the man grabbed Charles angrily by his wrist.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nobody grabs Charles and gets away with it (besides Erik, and only in an affectionate manner, of course).   
> Also in which Erik's search for a petname come to a fortuitous end.

He didn't remember running forward, but he must have because he suddenly found himself chest to chest with the spindly man, shoving him back away from Charles, knocking his hand away, growling, he didn't even know _what_ he was growling.

"Erik--no, **_no_**!" Charles was calling, but his voice seemed far off. He could see the white of Richards' eyes, wide with shock. Erik realized he was gripping the guy by the lapels and threw him off.

"Erik, _stop!_ " Charles cried.

"What is this?" Richards demanded, voice high-pitched. "What is he still _doing_ here? _"_

"Reed," Charles growled warningly, but the man didn't seem to get it.

"I'll make it easy for you," Reed hissed to Erik, grabbing his wallet and shoving forty bucks into Erik's chest. "There--now get the hell out of here!"

" _Reed!_ "

Erik didn't bother trying to talk to the guy, he just pulled back a fist.

But before he could let loose, a vice-like grip to the arm was dragging him backwards, and then the same grip was dragging Reed along with him, all the way outside and into the lobby.

"The both of you kindly _calm yourselves_!" Charles hissed at them. "Erik, this is just a huge misunderstanding. Reed, this is my _boyfriend_ , Erik Lensherr!"

Reed's face, red with passion, turned to the color of sour milk and he collapsed back to support himself on the wall.

"Boy- _boyfriend_?" he squeaked. Erik hadn't relaxed his fists, and still wasn't completely sure he wasn't going to punch the guy.

"What misunderstanding?" he growled.

Charles sighed, massaging his brow, looking for all the world like the before-stage of a migraine commercial.

"It's cleared up now, _isn't it_ , Reed?" he questioned, his voice thin with anger.

The tall man didn't seem capable of speech yet, making choking noises and staring between Charles and Erik.

"Well it isn't cleared up for me," Erik pointed out.

Charles' pity seemed unsure of who it should support. Reed looked more pathetic at this point, apparently, because it finally went to him.

"Reed was just confused. He understands now," Charles assured.

Reed chose this bad time to regain his voice, raising it up defensively.

"He was in your room--dressed like that--looking like that--what was I supposed to think?" he choked.

"I'm sure there were a lot more stops between ' _no-idea_ ' and ' _call boy_ ,' Reed!" Charles accused.

It was Erik's turn to choke now, although his sputtering in no way impeded the grip of his fists. He was leaning more and more towards punching this guy square in the nose.

" _You thought I was a call boy?_ " he snarled.

"If it makes you feel better," Charles said softly, touching Erik at the small of the back in a way that seemed to remind him that they had been playing at the same thing not too long ago. "He thought you were a very _high-end_ call boy."

"That does _not_ make me feel better," Erik lied, trying to growl, but it was hard to sound too vicious with Charles' hand at his waist.

"I'm so extremely--I'm very--My God, I'm—" Reed sputtered, but Erik wasn't sure if the guy was fishing for 'sorry' or 'mortified'. He shunted the blame off himself quickly enough, shaking another finger at Charles. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend!"

Erik knocked Reed's hand violently from his man's face. What business was it of this guy? Who the fuck _was_ this guy?

"I'm sorry," Charles said, and Erik wished that he had the ability to take things back on Charles' behalf. Because _he_ should not be sorry-- _this guy_ should be sorry.

He couldn't undo Charles words, but he could at least augment them.

"Unless your last name is actually Xavier, Charles doesn't owe you shit, and he certainly doesn't have to update you on his love-life," he growled, with no idea if it was accurate or not, just for the sake of putting the bastard in his place.

"I was here long before you were, Buster Brown, and I'll be here long after you're gone!" Reed growled at him, turning his ire away from Charles and onto Erik.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Reed scoffed at him, and Erik stepped forward to punch him, but Charles was dragging down his arm. "You didn't tell him about me?" Reed asked Charles.

"Reed," Charles warned. The taller man brought himself up to full height and smirked down his thin nose at Erik.

"Well, I guess that goes to show how serious he is about _you_."

Charles was still hanging off his right arm, so Erik struck out with his left, catching the smug man right on the cheekbone and knocking him over easily.

The brunet jumped in front of Erik immediately, shoving him back against the wall in a fit before helping Reed up from his daze on the floor. Erik looked on impassively. The man was a wimp: Erik had barely struck him. There wasn't much strength to his left hook. A stronger man would have swayed maybe, but certainly not fallen. He felt absolutely no remorse, and, surprisingly, Charles seemed to still be on his side.

"I'm sorry, Reed," Charles grit out, pulling the man to his feet. "As much as I abhor violence, you really did deserve that."

Reed was too dazed to speak, which was a good thing. Charles dragged him over in front of Erik and eyed his boyfriend bitterly with flashing blue eyes.

"Apologize," he demanded. Erik crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at the taller professor.

" _No._ "

"Erik," Charles grit out.

"I'm not sorry I hit him. He shouldn't have said that to me. You said it yourself, he deserved it," Erik argued.

"He _did_ deserve it, but that _doesn't_ mean you should have done it. Apologize."

"I don't hear him apologizing to me."

"Reed," Charles prompted. The man seemed just surprised and out of it enough to do as he was told for once.

"I'm, I'm very sorry, of course," he mumbled. "Shouldn't have said that to you. Of course. Very sorry."

Erik thought it was mostly the shock of getting punched talking. Some men were like that: they got hit so infrequently that when they finally did it about scrambled their brains they were so surprised.

"Apparently I shouldn't have hit you," Erik said, because that was not an apology, nor did it exactly state that he _believed_ he shouldn't have hit him.

Charles recognized this, squinting his eyes, but the apology was to Reed, not him, so it didn't matter what he thought of it.

"Shake hands," Charles prompted, and Erik did so eagerly because it was a good way to bruise Reed's hand.

"Ah!" the man gasped before Erik had even heard the first bone pop. These academic types--what weaklings. Academic as Charles was, Erik was sure the man would handle himself more honorably in a fight.

"Reed--go back to the conference. I'll see you later. _You_ ," Charles growled to Erik, pointing at him as if Erik didn't know who he was talking to. "Come with me."

So Erik followed Charles dutifully to the hotel entrance, throwing a threatening glance back at Reed for good measure.

Charles stopped just inside the doors, and held Erik's phone out to him without a word and without even looking at him.

"Are you mad at me?" Erik asked, slightly anxious as he switched back phones.

" _Yes,"_ Charles said strongly, not bothering to sugar-coat it in the least.

Erik shifted from foot to foot. "Are you...are you going to break up with me?"

That seemed to shock Charles from his cold-shoulder treatment and he glanced up at Erik with wide blue eyes. He looked uncomfortable, and Erik's face fell in advance. His throat closed up but he didn't let anything progress past that, biting on the inside of his mouth and clenching his fists enough to hurt.

"Erik," Charles murmured, putting his arms around his shoulders, pressing his face to Erik's collarbone. "I'm not going to break up with you, Erik."

Erik's sigh was relieved and shuddery, and he felt he would collapse if he weren't careful, his legs felt so uneasy.

"But you can't ever do something like that again, Erik. Not ever."

Erik was grateful enough to promise anything, but he thought that Charles really would break up with him if he gave a promise he couldn't keep. So he said, "We'll take it on a case-by-case basis."

Charles eyed him levelly so he continued argumentatively.

"Surely you don't mean I can't punch anyone ever again. Think about self-defense. Think about preemptive strikes. If there's ever a zombie apocalypse I'm going to be punching away like a prize-fighter," Erik stated and Charles laughed outright, which was exactly what he had been aiming for.

He put his arms around Charles' waist and breathed in the scent of his hair. It smelled different: hotel shampoo.

"All right, then," Charles sighed in resignation. "But no more punching my friends."

"He's not your friend," Erik scoffed. "He's a fucking asshole."

" _No_ , he's...Erik, Reed and I used to _date_."

Erik frowned bitterly. He had suspected, of course, but still.

"But he's such a jerk!"

"He just got carried away."

"But he's so _old_!"

"He's not _that_ old. He's only fifty-four."

"And you're twenty-eight! He's old enough to be your father!"

"That's always rather been the problem," Charles sighed, and Erik leaned back to eye more information out of the man. This was, after all, the first ex-boyfriend Erik had heard about so far. He wondered if Reed was one of the Two Assholes Raven had told him about. He could certainly believe it. He wondered if Reed was the reason he couldn’t call Charles a sex-freak.

"When Reed and I dated I was in a really... _vulnerable_ place," Charles continued, spitting the word 'vulnerable' out of his mouth like a bad taste. "I relied on Reed a lot, and he was really good to me. But he never exactly got used to me standing on my own. He's still not used to it. He's very...fatherly. So he really can't help these bouts of protectiveness: saving me from expensive hookers and the like."

Erik laughed. "Yeah well you've got a new boyfriend now, and I might be an expensive hooker, but I can protect you just fine."

"So I've seen," Charles said darkly. "So long as you remember that I don't need protecting I won't have to break up with you, too."

This sounded light enough, but Erik recognized the threat for what it was and shivered accordingly.

"You don't have to break up with me," he assured softly.

"Good," Charles replied, gazing up at him sweetly. "Because, really, I'm incredibly fond of you, darling."

"I'm pretty fond of you, too, _Helligkeit,_ " he admitted.

"What does that mean?" Charles leaned back in his arms to murmur.

Erik blinked, realizing that he had accidentally said _Helligkeit_ , 'brightness', instead of _Herrlichkeit_ , 'magnificence'.

But, now that he thought about it, brightness was very apt.

"It means 'light of my life, sunshine in the nighttime, lighthouse unaffected by the storm'," he insisted with all his natural Irish poeticism rolled up into one sentence.

Charles grinned up at him. "German is a lot more concise than I was led to believe."

But the man was blushing through his smile, so Erik could tell he approved.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned all the sleepiness of me? Sooooo sleepiness! On that notes, here's a long chapter with stuff in it! Enjoy! 4reelz!  
> In other news, I don't speak Spanish! Not a whit of it! All the amazing Spanish in this chapter is courtesy of none other than EnderWxx, the darling Lu! Thank you, dearie, for being a dear and helping a girl out :)

It was noon by time Erik got back to the cafe.

He parked quickly, but when he went to toss open the back door it remained firmly shut. So Erik cursed wildly and kicked the damn thing for being locked, because he had given his opening key to Janos, and the spare key belonged permanently to Azazel. Then he was reduced in his wrathful frustration to _knocking_ , although if they didn’t hear his kicking they certainly wouldn’t hear his knocking. Cursing anew, he went around the building to the front entrance, glowering his way inside.

Where everyone starting cheering suddenly.

The place was packed for finals, and when Angel and Janos started applauding and catcalling from behind the counter the rest of the cafe joined in in what amounted to a roar with this kind of crowd.

Erik looked around in confusion, trying to discover first off _who_ they were cheering, and when the answer could only be him, he had to move on to _why_.

Then he saw it.

Someone had rigged a long swath of red poster paper over the bar, and in sparkly purple glitter writing someone had written **_CONGRATULATIONS ON GETTING LAID!!!_**

Face burning, Erik jumped up, ripping the paper down in strips.

Angel was laughing hysterically, and, to Erik’s added mortification, she was taping the whole thing on her goddamn phone.

“You’re both fired,” he snarled at the two of them, dragging the mutilated banner to the back to get to the dumpsters.

“The sex must not been so good. You are not happy,” Janos teased him through mirthful tears when he got back, too elated to speak proper English.

“Why are you two still here? I said you were fired,” Erik growled.

“During finals week? I don’t think so,” Angel scoffed, making drinks at double time for the time she had lost teasing him. “So how was it?”

“Fuck off,” Erik grumbled, shoving her to the cash register and taking over the drinks.

“Yikes! That bad?”

He ignored her, surveyed the working conditions in disgust. “What the fuck happened? It’s like a tornado came through here!”

When he looked up Angel was pointing steadfastly at Janos.

“Soooo, I shall go to lunch then, yes?”

“Get a toothbrush while you’re out because you’re cleaning this place up when you get back.”

Janos’ face fell and he scuffed his expensive Italian shoes on the floor petulantly on his way to his locker.

“I’m glad you finally got back,” Angel commented offhand. “Customers kept thinking the banner was for them. You should have seen all the frat boys that burst in cheering themselves.”

“Serves you right,” Erik muttered.

“You didn’t have a good time? We all thought you’d be in high spirits today.”

“High enough spirits to not murder you over that stunt?”

“That was the plan.”

“It was fine. _That_ was more than fine. But I got into a fight with one of Charles’ exes,” Erik admitted.

Angel dropped the customer’s change everywhere in her shock, and was about to beat more information out of him, but Janos interrupted, bundled up for the cold.

“Need some thing from the store while I’m gone?” he asked, obviously trying to get back into Erik’s good graces.

The man could think of exactly two some things to help the brat atone. He grabbed a pen and one of their business cards and scrawled on the back of it:

_ Since you’re so interested in my love-life: _

_Condoms. Good ones._

_Vaseline_

And he slipped it to the swarthy man, who didn’t manage to blanch so much as curdle.

“I—you—” he stuttered, staring between the paper and Erik. Erik refused to let himself blush, grinned evilly back at the man.

“And don’t forget the toothbrush.”

But Janos had apparently forgotten a lot more than just the toothbrush: he had completely forgotten how to speak English.

He spouted Spanish, in such a rush that Erik couldn’t translate it.

“No vas a usar estos _juntos_ , ¿verdad?”

“What?” Erik asked in English. He could technically speak Spanish, but the brand of Spanish he could speak was too rife with accent to use to a native speaker without copious blushing. Erik dug it out only when desperate situations arose. Now was confusing, but not desperate.

“You’re not using these things _together_ , right?” Janos repeated, and Erik caught on much better the second time around.

“So what if I am?”

Janos was taken aback by this, and glanced at Angel nervously before pulling Erik away from his job. A pointless precaution, Erik thought: Angel didn’t speak any Spanish, regardless of her last name.

“Erik, you cannot use these things together,” Janos warned.

Erik grimaced at the thought of saying ‘But I already have’ and so he said “Why not?” instead.

“Esto está basado en aceite. Dañará el látex,” Janos explained. Erik had to translate this sentence slowly in his mind. He had never had to learn the Spanish for “oil” or “undermine”. Janos continued, to make it easier for him: “This will make the condom tear.”

Erik stared at him hard. Had the condom torn last night? He thought he would have noticed something like that.

“How the hell do you know this?”

“How the hell do you think? I thought everyone who has had to lube up a condom knew this.”

Erik frowned, biting his lip. Charles seemed like the kind of guy who had lubed up many a condom in his life. How could _he_ not know this?

“Thanks, Janos,” he muttered. And then put the man squarely back on the hook. “Grab me some non-oil-based lube then, _principito_.”

Janos smiled and switched back to English. “You have a pet name for me? Does your lover know this?”

Erik cringed and went back to work, rushing through the buildup of cups his brief aside had resulted in. “He’s not my _lover_ , he’s my _boyfriend_. And he’s got plenty of his own pet-names without begrudging you ‘little prince’. Now go. And don’t forget the toothbrush.”

That got Janos pouting again, and he stomped out of the café like a petulant little whirlwind.

“What was that about?” Angel questioned.

Erik pretended he couldn’t hear her over the steaming milk and she was smart enough to take the hint.

“So, tell me about this ex-boyfriend,” she insisted instead when he was done with the steam-wand.

Erik liked this conversation a lot better, because it was about him kicking asses and not bothering with asking names, rather than with the conversation he was going to have to with Charles later. Namely: why would someone with seemingly so much sexual experience make the sort of sexual faux-pas a bisexual amateur like Janos could point out with ease?

 

__________________________________________

 

Charles informed him he'd be back 'around' five, so Erik showed up on his doorstep promptly as the church down the road was ringing the hour.

When Raven answered the door he didn't even pout at this miserable trade-off, letting himself in around the still-pajamaed blonde easily and hanging up his jacket and pageboy hat on the coat rack.

"Suuure, come on in," Raven drawled to him sarcastically. He ignored her.

"Charles back yet?" he asked, collapsing down on the couch. Raven was taking full advantage of her brother being gone: she seemed to have moved her living quarters onto the couch based on how many personal effects she had dragged out here. Most of the kitchen seemed to be in attendance, also.

"If he were you'd have a lapful of brunet."

"Instead of a lapful of trash. What _have_ you done to the place?"

Raven pouted, kicking at an empty Cup O'Noodles half-heartedly.

"I'm going to clean up."

"Better get a move on. He said around five and it's five right now. As opposed to eight in the morning, which must be what time you think it is based on your clothing choice."

Raven rolled her eyes.

"He's an _optimist_ : he always thinks he'll get back sooner than he actually will."

Erik frowned at this news because it rang so true. "Well, fuck. What am I supposed to do till he gets here?" He considered using Raven for the only thing she was good for: getting information about Charles. He could only think of one topic he would rather be introduced to by Raven than by Charles, so he got to clandestine work of bringing it up.

"You could always help me clean," Raven suggested hopefully.

Erik feigned deafness and got up to scope out Charles' bookcase instead, trying to appear flippant.

"Did Charles tell you about the conference any?" he questioned, reading over the titles there and feeling proud that he had such a well-read boyfriend. And with such wide-ranging tastes, too. Who on earth kept _H.P. Lovercraft's Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre_ right next to _The Help_ right next to _A Tale of Two Cities_? He wanted to hope that some of these were Raven's, but the thing was, disparate as they all were, they all seemed to fit Charles' tastes.

"Yeah right I want to hear about that boring junk," Raven scoffed. "I have plenty to put me to sleep studying for finals."

Erik grinned. "It was pretty interesting this year."

But she didn't seem shocked, and when he looked at her she was gazing back him condescendingly. "Charles already told me you stopped by."

"Did he tell you anything else?"

Now she seemed on less sure footing. "Like what?"

"Like about Reed Richards?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he told me Doctor Dull was a surprise add-on to the roster."

"Did he tell you I punched the good doctor in the face?"

That was the reaction he had been aiming for: pure unadulterated stupefaction. He laughed with the glory of it.

"You did not!" she gasped, and started pulling on his arm to pump him of his information manually. "Tell. Me. Everything!"

"Fair trade," Erik suggested. "I'll tell you everything that happened between me and Reed, and you'll tell me everything that happened between Reed and Charles." It was only a fraction of what he was looking for, namely, the rundown on all of Charles’ exes without Charles’ natural rose-tinted glasses marring their estimation. But he would take what he could get, and should he continue to have scandalous news to trade Raven for, he was sure he would get to the bottom of it all eventually.

Raven seemed unsure, even with his truncated demands. "I'll tell you the _essentials_ of Charles and Little Mr. Fantastic."

"Then I'll tell you the _essentials_ of me and Reed."

She stomped her foot petulantly, growling and gnashing her teeth. But she gave in eventually, as he knew she would. Girls like her were too rabid for information to stay silently in the dark.

"You first," she encouraged, but he didn't trust her enough for that.

"I think not. We'll see how well you tell your story and that'll decide how well I tell mine."

"Damn you, you kraut bastard," she snarled, but after a few angry breaths she grit out. "Charles was nineteen. Richards was old as fuck. He was a professor at Charles' university and Charles had just gotten out of a relationship and thought Reed would make a good rebound guy. So he seduced him."

"What?" Erik scoffed. He could see Charles seducing someone, that was no stretch at all. But to seduce someone so much older, when Charles could have his pick of the litter? That didn't make any sense to him. "Why Reed?"

Raven shrugged. "He figured Reed would take care of him for a while."

That didn't hold any meaning for Erik, but Raven was already continuing, wanting to get her offering out of the way so she could hurry up and receive.

"Then Charles started to get back on his feet and Reed freaked."

But why had Charles been off his feet in the first place? And who had put him there?

"He wanted to keep taking care of Charles, and Charles wanted to get back to taking care of himself, so they broke up. _Now_ : how did you get around to punching Reed Richards and how did you escape Charles' wrath afterwards?" she questioned with relish.

But just then there was the jangling of keys at the door.

Erik grinned at her and shrugged. "Guess I'll have to tell you later."

He thought she'd about explode from anger, but the girl only screeched as she hectically started shoving all her hobo trash into the garbage bag she had lugged out from the kitchen.

They both stopped what they were doing immediately though when Charles stumbled in, looking for all the world like a corpse that hadn't met its mortician yet.

They lunged for him at the same moment, but Erik, long-legged beast that he was, got there first.

"What the hell happened to you?" he balked, holding Charles to his chest. The man was still solid, still there, and although he looked smaller than usual he still felt as sturdy as ever. This relieved Erik enough to show magnanimity towards his sister: he passed the brunet over for her to prove his stability as well.

"I've been getting a stern talking-to for the last thirty-six hours," Charles sighed weakly, allowing Raven to take his bags—satchel, garment bag and suitcase, and lead him to the couch and sit him down on all the bedding she had dragged there. This aggravated Erik: she hadn't planned appropriately and now Charles had to fight his way out of his jacket while sitting there on the couch. Erik helped as much as he could, but it would have been easier to deal with this at the door. That's what he got for trusting amateurs with Charles' well-being.

"A stern talking-to managed to make you look like microwaved death? I thought you were made of sterner stuff!" Raven groused.

"My stuff is plenty stern. But lectures on top of my lectures was not what I was preparing myself for this weekend."

Erik's nails were digging crescents into his palms he was so angry.

"I should have punched him harder," he said bitterly.

Charles eyed him hard from under listless lids.

"Considering that that punch was what garnered me two days of lectures, I beg to differ."

Erik frowned guiltily. But this was not his fault. This was Reed's fault. Reed was the one that had hounded his boyfriend for two days. He should have taken it like a man and kept his complaints about it to himself. Logan would understand this. He wished that Logan was Charles' ex-boyfriend so he could punch with impunity. Although with Logan he would probably be taking as much of a beating as he would be giving. Still, he wasn't sure that wasn't preferable to the kind of whiny exes Charles apparently preferred to accumulate.

Erik brushed Charles' limp hair back and shoved Raven away enough to give him room to lean down and kiss him. That got the man smiling at least, and even if it was an exhausted sort of smile, it still gave him that same cheery glow that made _Helligkeit_ so appropriate.

"I'll feed you," he said out of an overabundance of affection.

Both Charles and Raven blanched immediately. " _No!"_ they begged in unison.

Charles recovered from his fright first, clearing his throat and amending his expletive. "That is, don't trouble yourself." Then he added avidly: "Let's go get gyros."

Erik turned his nose up.

"You need to fortify yourself. Let's get Chinese food."

"Ohhh let's!" Raven begged. Erik was going to tell her that she damned well wasn't invited, but Charles was wavering and he needed her added force to tip things into his favor. Facing the two of them, Charles had no choice.

"Fine, fine," he chuckled. "Why don't you go invite Logan while I change into something a bit less professorial? And Raven, please return the living room to order."

Erik would have loved to help him undress, but Raven had to change out of her pajamas and clean up her mess, so that left it up to him to invite Logan.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven is a liar and gets away with, and Erik only tolerates this because of cuddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow you guys, have I mentioned that I love every commenty, kudosy, ready one of you? Cuz I do. Talk about a love story (purely Platonic...right?): I love the freak outta ya'll. Thanks for all the things!

Knocking on Logan's door felt a bit like calling out "Sooieee" while entering a dragon's cave. Erik would have felt a lot safer going about this thing more stealthily, possibly by not doing it at all.

As much as he liked Logan, he recognized in the man a terrible purpose. He wondered if this was how people felt around _him_.

"Who the fuck is it?" a deep guttural growl sounded from inside.

Erik sighed and called back, "Open the fucking door and find out."

The door jolted open automatically and Logan stood on the threshold in such a state of disrepair that Erik had to look away.

"Heaven help us! Put some fucking clothes on!" he wailed.

"What's it to you?" Logan growled, pulling Erik inside by the shoulder of his shirt and leaving him there in the entryway.

The place reeked: like a locker room with lazy janitors, or an animal's den. The scent of putrid cigar smoke was laid over this, in a heady combination that would have made Erik gag if he had been a lesser man.

"Are you decent yet?" he huffed, breathing through his mouth, which seemed to coat his tongue in second-hand smoke.

"Decent as I'll ever be," Logan replied, and Erik hazarded a glance. The man now had jeans on, and that was the main improvement Erik had been searching for. The fact that the man had mixed up an actual shirt with what appeared to be a run-down wife-beater was unfortunate but not overwhelmingly egregious. "So, what did you want?"

"We're going out for Chinese. Want to join us?"

"Yup," Logan replied automatically. "Let me find my wallet and I'm ready."

Erik looked around. The place was a pigsty. He wondered how long it would take to find something so small in this wreck. There didn't' appear to be any method to it, either. Beer bottles, bits of cigars, clothes, papers, they were all strewn across the floor with no discernible system ruling them. It was a free-range filth field with a mattress floating in the middle and a TV barely visible under a pizza box.

While Logan kicked things around sifting for his valuables, adding clothes to his body as he went, Erik tried to think of something to say to while away the time. He decided that what had worked on Raven couldn’t totally backfire when it came to Logan, assuming Logan had any information he might want.

“How long have you known Charles?” he mused first off.

Logan didn’t look up but grunted a vague response: “Hellova long time I guess.”

Erik glared at him but the man wasn’t looking. “Yeah, but how long?” he growled.

Logan looked up finally and lit himself a mottled bit of cigar he had found on the ground.

“What the fuck is it to ya?” the bulky man growled back.

Erik kicked around the floor as a distraction, staring at the empty bottled of beer and perforated socks as if they were more interesting than this conversation and shifted tactics slightly.

“Did you know Reed Richards?”

“The self-proclaimed Mr. Fantastic? Knew of him. He was before my time. Why?” Erik tried to hide his shock at Logan knowing the phrase ‘self-proclaimed’ and continued.

“Nothing, I just met him this weekend. And punched him in the face.” He had been hoping that this would whet Logan’s appetite enough to goad some information out of him the way it had with Raven, but apparently he was only capable of getting lucky once.

Logan went back to kicking around his floor and puffing on his odiferous cigar with pure disinterest. “Congratufuckinlations. Kick Tom’s ass and maybe I’ll consider givin you a fuckin medal. Until then, excuse me if I don’t jump for joy.”

Erik grinned predatorily and slit his eyes, on the trail of a glorious hunt. “Who’s Tom?”

Logan jerked upright, staring at him. "I shouldn't of said that. So don't go around telling Charles that I said that."

Erik looked decidedly smug. "I'm keeping lots of secrets of yours lately."

"So put it on my fucking tab already. We done here or what?"

"Are we?"

Logan waved his liberated wallet to show that they were, and they left, Erik taking deep breaths of the pure clear air, Logan bruising his rib in chastisement for “being a fucking drama queen about it.”

\------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Considering that the last time the four of them had gathered around a table together Erik had been in imminent danger of spontaneous combustion due to excessively heated glaring, and the threat of concussion had been even more than imminent thanks to Logan, Erik was very pleased with this dinner.

For one, he got fed for the first time in two days, if you didn't count soda as a meal (Charles didn't).

"I can't believe you're really going to eat all that," Raven said distastefully, staring at his three plates of food.

"He needs to make up for all the meals he's missed," Charles argued, brushing Erik's hair back tenderly. It was incredibly complimentary to see Charles so worried about his welfare, and Erik was glowing under the dual brunt of warming flattery and a quickly-filling stomach.

The improvements of this dinner didn’t stop there, either. Apparently Charles wasn't the type of person to keep his hands to himself. Erik had seen couples like that before, of course, at the cafe. Their personal dictionaries began and ended with PDA. Erik had always loathed these couples on principle. He abjectly refused to stop loathing them, even in light of current events. This made him a complete and utter hypocrite, but he didn’t mind in the least. It was hard to mind much of anything with Charles’ hand on his thigh.

Charles told them about the rest of the conference with his free hand stroking Erik's inseam, and when Erik told them about the kids' stunt at the café Charles rubbed his back consolingly. He got to try Charles' Peking Duck off his chopsticks, caress a stray eyelash off his cheek, and although it felt a bit too juvenile to be holding hands at the dinner table, he did deign to loop his hand around Charles' wrist, rubbing his thumb over the inside ropes of veins and tendons.

"If you two start gazing lovingly into each other's eyes I'm out of here," Raven threatened.

"Quick, gaze lovingly into my eyes," Erik begged of Charles.

Erik got to help Charles put his jacket on when they left, and their arms fit easily around one another as they walked back to the apartment, and somehow this made Erik feel more like a boyfriend than sneaking to Metropolis to fuck, or punching exes or purchasing ignored flowers. It was almost enough to make him forget that he had any serious topics of discussion to bring up at the next possible opportunity. But not quite, of course.

"What are you guys doing now?" Logan asked when they got to the doorstep.

Erik couldn’t say ‘working out a way to ask Charles why he uses condoms with taboo lube,’ so he let Raven answer.

"I have to watch a movie for Fem Culture," she said so quickly he knew it to be a lie.

"What movie?" Charles questioned.

"Reservoir Dogs."

Erik wanted them all to stare at her blankly until the awkwardness of the situation prompted her to tell the truth, but Logan ruined it.

"Fuck, I'm in!" he cried, bounding through the door and heading straight to Charles' fridge to raid beers.

"Guess we're watching Reservoir Dogs," Charles sighed. " _Again."_

He and Charles commandeered the couch first off, Erik leaning the smaller man against his chest to settle in. If he had to watch Reservoir Dogs he was at least going to keep a lapful of brunet to make it worth it. He had never seen Reservoir Dogs before, or any other Tarantino movie for that matter, out of protest to the pretentious college kids that reveled in them. It was hard to believe he was willingly going to sit through this movie, considering how many versions of its T-shirt he had purposefully spilt coffee on in the last seven years, but Charles apparently thought it anti-social to skip out on it.

Raven started up the movie and then made the miserably thoughtless mistake of plopping down halfway onto Charles, which meant she was a quarter of the way on Erik.

Erik stared at her in complete shock, willing her to get the hell off his boyfriend, and by extension, himself. She fiddled with the DVD remote, oblivious to her error. Finally he gave up on discretion and simply shoved a foot between her and her brother, kicking her away.

She screeched out in a huff, glaring mightily, but shock and rage made her impotent beyond that.

"Go get your own fucking boyfriend," he suggested, wrapping his leg around Charles' waist so she couldn't retake her place in his lap.

"He was my brother long before he was your boy toy!"

"Play nice, kids," Charles advised rather sleepily.

"Shut up, the movie's starting," Logan growled, dropping some beers onto the coffee table and taking a seat on the floor in front of Raven. She couldn't continue balking after that, so she punched Erik in the shin, earning bitter grunt, but Erik didn't retaliate beyond that. He had already beat up Charles' ex that weekend; he didn't think the brunet would let him add Raven to the stats. He was lucky he had gotten away with separating them so forcefully to begin with. Best not push that luck too far.

"My god, I forgot how filthy this movie was," Charles sighed as Tarantino starting talking about an abundance of dicks. Erik turned his nose up. He had always loathed those college douches fully without evidence, and now that he did have evidence he wasn't likely to change his verdict.

"How is this for school?" Erik scoffed, interested in how Raven was going to justify this.

"My paper's on the lack of women in pop culture," she said flippantly.

"What about Madonna? That's pop culture."

"Oprah," Charles added.

"Ripley in _Alien_ ," supplied Logan.

"My scope is narrower," Raven replied tightly. "Now shut up and watch the movie."

In less than half an hour Charles was slumping in Erik's arms, so the taller man annexed more couch space in order to move horizontal. It meant Raven had a lap full of legs, but she whined minimally because she didn't want to miss any of the movie by fighting them. Tarantino had his uses, it seemed.

The other unexpected perk of this movie was, with Charles turning away every time someone gushed blood, Erik soon found himself in the joyful position of Charles pressed up to his chest, breathing into his collarbone and offering up plenty of brown hair to breathe in. It still smelled like hotel shampoo, but Erik didn't mind enough to complain.

He put his arm over Charles' ribs and pet back the hair at the base of his skull and wondered dreamily. He wondered what it was about Charles that made him like so much being his boyfriend when he had always been noticeably blasé boyfriend-dom before. And he wondered what it was about him that Charles seemed to like, and if he'd continue to like it, or if, like Reed and this elusive Tom, Erik would one day be deemed unfit for office and relieved of his duties.

Luckily, his natural elitism made it impossible for him to think that he was not at least in some important ways better than Charles' exes in addition to a good ninety percent of the world's population. He wasn't dull like Reed, he thought, and he wasn't evil like Tom apparently was, so once he figured out what was wrong with Charles’ other exes he would be able to say definitively why he was better than them too and would finally feel as if this whole thing had come about by something other than sheer luck.

In his 35 years of life he had never understood dating, or rather, he had never understood the rules to the game of dating. In his past relationships that hadn’t bothered him very much. If his boyfriends or girlfriends didn’t like him or the way he did things they were free to leave.

This was different. Charles was definitely not free to leave. Charles had to stick around for as long as Erik was head-over-heels smitten with him, and if he ever decided he didn't want to stick around then Erik had to find a way to make him want to stick around. In part this meant being the absolutely best Erik he knew how to be, and partly it meant not doing any of the things that Charles had broken up with his past boyfriends for. He didn’t know dating rules, but he couldn’t help but think that this would cover all his bases. If he managed this then Charles would always want to be with him, and at the moment he couldn’t imagine not wanting to always be with Charles, so it was a pleasant thought.

"What?" Charles mumbled against his throat.

"What do you mean, what?" Erik whispered.

"You were squeezing me, all happy-like," Charles informed him. Erik hadn't noticed, and couldn't answer as Raven growled, "You two stop the pillow-talk and properly watch straight mutilation."

"Yeah," Logan added helpfully.

Erik rolled his eyes, but neither of them could tell. He wished that eye-rolling were more demonstrative so he could properly get across his complete lack of deference even in dark living rooms during violent movies.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is not a forward thinker and Charles is not serene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhhh myyyyyyyy gooodnessssssss I'm rewriting things roundabouts these parts so we'll see what happens! In the meantime I still heart you all <3 see?

Charles was completely conked out by the end of the movie, but Erik wasn't, and he growled like a wary watchdog when Logan approached with a Sharpie.

"He fell asleep during drinking," Logan pointed out. "He must submit to the Sharpie."

"M'not drinking," Charles countered drowsily, stretching himself awake.

"Then you are being penalized for abstaining when drinking is underway," Logan insisted.

"Back off," Erik threatened. He could feel his heart picking up the pace, preparing his body for battle. He would not allow this hairy cretin to deface his boyfriend like a public bathroom stall.

"Go ahead, Logan," Charles taunted cheerfully, so cheerfully in fact that it wasn't even clear if it was true taunting. "Penalize me."

Logan frowned, but put the Sharpie away.

"Damn you. The both of you," he complained bitterly, and bit off the bottle cap of his next beer to release his frustration.

"Let's get out of here before he gets any more ideas," Charles whispered, and Erik agreed, not because he was worried about any more ideas Logan could have but because it would mean having Charles to himself. And there weren't many things he liked more on this planet so far than having Charles to himself.

"Don't be loud," Raven warned. "I'm young and impressionable."

"I won't do anything to him you haven't seen on HBO," Erik promised.

"That in no way makes me feel safe."

"Blame HBO."

In truth he might as well have sworn to keep things worthy of the Disney Channel. Charles was too sleepy for much else, but the way he had Erik splayed out on his back in order to better slip his fingers through the taller man’s hair didn’t lend itself to complaint. So Erik simply lay back and enjoyed it, blinking his eyes open when he could in order to bask in the warmly affectionate glow Charles was shining down on him. He had known that _Helligkeit_ would be an apt moniker.

"I love that," Charles murmured, leaning over from his promontory crutched up on his shoulder and brushing his lips over Erik's.

"What?" Erik asked, groggy with pleasure.

"That purring. I think it’s my new favorite sound.”

Erik was pleased that anything unique to him (and cats) could be Charles’ favorite anything and grinned happily against Charles’ teasing lips.

When Charles pulled back he still couldn’t quite manage to not smile and for once the brunet didn’t return the smile, making him rather nervous. The man instead stared down at him as if he'd just read something he wasn't sure if he believed or not.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful, Erik,” he sighed. He eased himself off his shoulder and closer against Erik’s side, nuzzling into his throat.

The man didn’t see Erik’s cheeks light up with a blush, but he did apparently feel his breathing falter, and hear the slightly choking noises Erik made as he tried to come up with a proper rebuttal to that.

“You are,” Charles chuckled, pushing back up, this time onto an elbow to gaze Erik over endearingly. “You’re the most beautiful—so handsome, so strong, so sweet.”

Erik gulped and put a staying hand on Charles’ shoulder to stop him. He had no idea if it was flattery or not but no one had ever said anything like this to him before and it was hard to keep up with.

“What?’ Charles whispered. “Am I too much?” This seemed to be a confusingly frequent worry of Charles’ and Erik nipped it in the bud.

"You're exactly right," he assured.

The happiness that lit up Charles' eyes at this sentence made Erik wish all his responses could be so well-formed, before Charles kissed him, making all thoughts flee before him.

“Charles,” he gasped, hips levering up on their own accord to rub himself against the man. It was the only way he could think to say at this moment that there was no way Charles could be so gratifying and so beautiful and so perfect and not expect to get  gratifyingly, beautifully, perfectly fucked.

“Yes, Erik,” Charles sighed in agreement, slipping further on top of him and grinding down, swallowing Erik’s moans with his mouth, licking them out with his tongue.

“My jacket,” Erik pulled back to gasp.

“It’s a pretty jacket,” Charles nodded as if that was what was holding Erik back. Erik growled and avoided Charles’ lips when they tried to nab him again.

“The condoms are in my jacket.”

“…And your jacket is…”

“On the coat rack.”

“In the entry way.”

“Yes.”

“The entryway past my sister and Logan.”

“That’s right.”

Charles glared down at him. “You may be handsome, strong and sweet, my darling, but a forward thinker you are not.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Erik forced Charles to hop up and get the jacket because he himself had to get his head in the right place somehow in the two seconds it would take Charles to run there and back.

 _Leave it alone,_ the part of him said. _Leave it alone and have sex with your incredibly hot boyfriend. Who cares why he likes his condoms extra fragile? Who cares if it’s Charles’ own stupidity or the nefarious influence of someone else, maybe even someone named Tom? And while we’re on about it anyway, who cares why it’s a capital crime to call the man a sex-freak or why he always thinks he’s taking advantage of you or thinks he’s too much for you?_

Every single part of Erik not centered around his cock shouted a resounding _ME,_ so he knew that, libido or no libido, he was just going to have to get to the bottom of this and hope an innocent enough reason abounded that would allow their full-throttle plans to fuck till dawn to prevail.

At the same time, Erik had never trusted much in hoping.

Charles burst through the door, loot in hand, with Raven’s voice chasing him inside. "What do you need a jacket for? Is this like a kinky roleplay thing?"

"Can you please just pretend we have boundaries at least around company?" Charles begged before shutting the door firmly.

Raven had a voice that was used to being heard, though, so doors weren't a great hindrance to her.

"Is one of you like a lady of the night and the other drives up to love him off the streets?"

Charles put his hand over his eyes in a show of great long-suffering.

"Romance is slowly draining out of situation, isn't it?" he sighed, struggling to be heard over Raven's progressing guesses: "Does one of you forget your jacket on the subway and the other runs after him to return it? Maybe one of you falls in the ocean and the other lends his jacket to dry off?"

Erik didn’t bother to tell him that romance was flooding out of this situation for more reasons than Raven. "Open your present. She'll run her mouth out soon enough."

"For all my usual optimism I have a hard time believing that," Charles laughed, sitting next to him on the bed and searching through his jacket pockets.

"Well for just this once I'll be the optimist and you can be the pessimist." He was right: Raven had already tired of her game, settling back into drinking with Logan again. "Inside pocket," he hinted.

He watched Charles' face rather than his hands as the brunet unwrapped the paper bag of goodies. He didn't seem anything less than thrilled at receiving something other than his usual fare.

"And not a strawberry to be seen. Excellent job, darling," Charles murmured happily, leaning in and caressing his lips over Erik's. The other man dropped back onto the pillows to avoid this change of subject.

"You don't mind?" Charles looked confused at this so Erik continued. "I know you prefer...well..." _Something it's bad for you to prefer._

The brunet shrugged happily. "I don't mind the more modern stuff." He went on in that sultry lilt of his that made Erik gulp: "If you haven't noticed yet, I'm up for most anything."

Erik had to take a few steadying breaths to remember that he had a purpose in all this, and despite what every hormone in his body was telling him, that purpose was not, at this moment, to toss Charles onto his back and ravage him.

He cleared this throat, searched around for the proper words for what he was trying to get at.

"Why use it at all then? I mean, if you like the good stuff well enough?"

Charles furrowed his brow, apparently picking up on the fact that this was a discussion they were having now, rather than just a random exchange. He sat up fully, looking confused, but not so confused as to stop the conversation as of yet. "It's what I've always used. From my, ahem, that is…well, from my first time. I guess it's rather ingrained at this point."

Erik felt as if he were holding his breath. Maybe he was. Charles' first time, so that meant his first boyfriend, right? Had that been Reed? Had there been someone before Reed? And if Charles had used this stuff from his very first time, that had to have been years and years ago. How had he not noticed it was legendarily bad if he'd been using it for years?

"But so you don't _have_ to use it, then. I mean, it's just a bad habit."

Charles frowned at him, tilting his head in wonderment.

" _Bad_ habit?"

Erik felt his cheeks go warm with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. He hadn't necessarily meant to say that…

"I mean, I don't know…Janos said—"

" _Janos_ said? You talked to _Janos_ about this?" Charles balked, pulling back in shock. Erik sat up to try to chase his own careless words down, bite them back.

"No! I mean, he…it came up." Charles didn't look quite convinced of this, but he was nothing if not generous, and his favorite thing to give was the benefit of the doubt, so he allowed Erik to continue. "Janos said…well, he said that condoms and Vaseline didn't work well together."

This sounded like common hearsay, so Erik continued in order to give it a more scientific feel, something he hoped Charles would give more credence to. "He said Vaseline is oil-based, so it undermines the latex."

Charles eyed him for another bewildered second before he turned his eyes away, pensive. Quickly his mind must have satisfied itself on the truth of this statement, because his brow suddenly cleared.

His lids peeled back eerily far, blue eyes stark with horror. He went deathly pale, and then splotchy red. Fists clenched and jaw ground tight, he breathed in panting hitches and Erik realized the man was _angry_. This was the man _actually really fucking angry_.

"That bastard! That utter and complete bastard!" he hissed through his teeth, and sprang up from his seat in a wrathful spasm. Erik could only follow behind in a heady sort of daze as the smaller man lunged for the door, slamming it open and pointing at Logan wrathfully.

Erik stared on in shock—Logan? _Logan_ was the one who had done this?

"You!" Charles growled, interrupting the two on the couch as they were about to move onto another round of drinks.

They stared at him and their jaws dropped, bolstering Erik's belief that Charles angry was just as much of an anomaly as he had suspected.

"Get your claws good and sharpened, because I've got a task that requires your love of bloodshed!"

Logan and Raven glanced at each other for a moment before Raven gripped her beer bottle like a bludgeon and glared at Erik.

"What did he do?" she growled to her brother, leveling herself up into proper attack pose.

Erik fell back in shock against the doorframe.

" _Me?"_ he balked. "What did _I_ do?"

Charles turned to stare at him as well, his confusion breaking him out of his rage as he looked between his miserably bewildered boyfriend and his murderously blood-thirsty posse.

"What? No—not _him_ ," Charles defended, putting himself squarely between Erik and the others, spanning his arms out just in case they decided to try something regardless (as they looked in every mood to do). "Not Erik. _Him_."

At these words, Logan and Raven's brows cleared in unison, immediately, and they both turned absolutely giddy with blood-lust.

"I'll get my shotgun!" Logan crowed, jumping up from the couch like a boy on Christmas morning.

"I've been saving my good mace for a fancy occasion!" Raven shouted with joy.

"You still got his address?" Logan questioned, scrambling to ram his boots on.

"Memorized! But I'll double-check with Chris on the way there. You get the Camino fixed yet?"

Logan scoffed. "It's a revenge-spree! We're taking the Harley!"

Charles decimated their elation with one fell blow. "You're not taking anything because you're not going."

They stopped in their preparations, eyeing the brunet bitterly.

"No take-backs, Xavier," Logan growled.

"We've been waiting for this day for _years_ , Charles—you can't do this to us!" whined Raven.

"I'm sorry," Charles murmured, running his hand over his face. He backed up a step, brushing against Erik and pressing in there to his side. "I can't let you. I'm sorry I said anything—I was upset, I slipped. I'm sorry. I can't let you do this."

"Well, it's not up to you. Two versus one. Majority rule," Raven shrugged.

Charles took a deep, revitalizing breath and countered: "Two versus two. Tied. House wins, and I own this house," and put his arm firmly around Erik's waist.

Erik stared— _he_ was part of that two? _He_ brought them to a tie _against_ beating up the mystery guy that had fucked up his boyfriend's sex-safety?

Logan and Raven seemed to find the situation more than just baffling, they found the whole thing absolutely comical. Despite raring adrenaline, they bust up laughing.

" _Him?_ " Raven cackled. "He's not on your side! If anything he's on _our_ side!"

" _Three_ versus one! Super-majority!" Logan agreed, chuckling heartily.

Erik would have liked to have laughed with equal joy, but he couldn't. He didn't find the situation as gut-wrenchingly hilarious at all. All he felt was torn.

Looking over into those big blue eyes, huge with emotion, seeming to plead _"You're on my side, aren't you? Aren't you?"_ with all their lustre, how could he feel anything _but_ torn? Was he on the side of his amazing boyfriend, or was he on the side of kicking evil bastards' asses? And why oh why was he unlucky enough for these two things to be mutually exclusive?

On the one hand, he really liked Charles. On the other hand, he really _really_ liked kicking asses.

He took a deep breath and turned back to the recovered pair, trying hard to ignore the clear blue eyes beside him, at least long enough to work his voice-box properly.

"I'm with Charles," he grumbled against his will.

Raven and Logan were too shocked to rail against him for the moment, and while Charles was distracted with kissing his cheek merrily, Erik winked at his new crew.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik collapses under the pressure of his own hypocrisy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can do is beg for patience! Patience please! Also here's all teh luvs.

Luckily he was not dealing with complete idiots here, so they gave no obvious reaction to his clandestine sign.

Raven carried on like a truly put-upon sister, throwing her hands up, stomping her feet, kicking beer bottles and railing against her brother and his cowardly boyfriend for all she was worth. Logan punched a hole in the wall (Charles gave exactly one plaintive wail, the Canadian swore to fix it once he was done being pissed beyond words at him). And after complaining about the need for strong acohol they raided Charles' good liquor cabinet and went to drown their frustrations in Logan's apartment.

Erik's mind was busy planning how to keep Charles busy for long enough to follow them down to the den and then get Operation Violent Revenge up and violently running, and he completely missed Charles coming at him until the smaller man was fully wrapped around him.

"Thank you, so much," the brunet murmured into him, holding him tightly. Erik snapped back to the present, blinking himself into action and rubbing Charles' back, wondering why agreeing to not kill an ex was worth adulation rather than a revocation of his Manliness Card. He was stopped breathless when the Brit pulled back and his eyes were wet, deep dark lashes clumped together with tears.

_What in god's name was this fuckery?_

Erik's heart was in a deep-seated panic, hammering at his chest as if looking for a way out, like a traumatized teen thrashing her way out of a murder house. This sort of fear should have been reserved for fight-to-the-death bare-knuckle battles or Cold War missile crises. Instead it came about because of two blue eyes full of tears.

" _What are you doing?_ " he gasped through a throat choking him off with terror. His entire body felt numb as if with frostbite, and it was with surprise that he saw his shaking hand come into view, wiping Charles' lashes. A precariously-placed tear broke loose, grazing Charles' cheek as it dropped and Erik couldn't tell which of them was more upset at this moment.

"I'm just so happy," Charles said thickly, wiping his tears away with the backs of his hands. Erik did not comprehend this. _Could_ not comprehend this. Tears were for sad things. Not happy things. Charles was lying, he had to be. He was sad, sad about something—it must be this elusive _him_ everyone was talking about. This him had a name, and Erik would find it out and he and his team would break this man, break him and burn him and turn the ashes into mud.

Charles seemed oblivious to his thought-processes: the brunet clasped his hands tightly and bowed his head, pressed his lips to Erik's knuckles. The taller man shuddered: he could feel Charles' tears slick and warm on him.

"I can't begin to explain how much it means to me…that you trust me, that you trusted my judgment," Charles whispered.

Erik frowned. Was this true? Charles was crying because he was happy—happy with something Erik had done? The taller man could barely wrap his mind around the concept, and certainly not in the time Charles allotted before he pulled back, staring wetly into Erik's eyes.

The tears seemed to somehow make his eyes even bluer—the bluest eyes Erik had ever seen, perfectly mesmerizing and Erik was disgusted with himself that he could find something so gut-wrenching beautiful.

"I guess this is going to take some getting used to," Charles chuckled thickly.

"What?" Erik mumbled, running his hands back through dark brown hair. Charles closed his eyes for a moment at that, eyes blue like stars when he looked up at Erik again, smile a waver.

"Having someone be as good to me as you are."

The words settled in Erik's brain like ice and froze him all the way down to his heart.

He was barely able to meet Charles' eyes without crumbling into hypocritical ruin. The full horror of what he was going to do hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. God, he was going to lie to Charles' fucking face. He was going to tell the man he had his back, trusted him, believed in his sensibilities—then he was going to undermine Charles' authority. He was going to swear up and down that Charles' will should be done, then sneak off to Logan's apartment and do everything in his power to subvert that will, not even up-front like a man but in the night like a rat. He was going to do everything but out-right break his promise to Charles: kick asses without punching faces. He was going to do things to Charles that he would kill anyone else for doing to him.

He reached out and held Charles to his body, shaking hard under the weight of his own irredeemable badness. And here was the best man he knew telling him he was good, was so it good it was a shock, was so good it brought him to _tears_.

Fuck, he was so fucking screwed.

He took a deep breath and pulled back, stroking Charles' hair and looking into those so-blue eyes as much as he could manage without bursting into heretical flame.

"It's past your bedtime, _Helligkeit_. Take a bath and I'll come tuck you in," he smiled thinly.

Charles glanced up at him nervously. He looked just as he did when he handed Erik his business card in the café that day, and Erik was smitten anew.

"Would you…" the brunet faltered, licked his lower lip, started again. "Do you still want to stay the night? I promise not to cry anymore." With Charles' usual style it would have been humorous, but now it was just ardent. He really was promising. He was regretting it.

Erik put a stop to that immediately—he didn't want Charles to ever regret sharing something with him, even if it was something that made Erik as uncomfortable as tears.

"I'd love to spend the night," he assured, tilting Charles' chin up purposefully. He knew the meaning that he wanted to get across at this moment, but he had no idea if his mouth was up to the task. It never seemed to be. Still, Charles wasn't telepathic so he had to try to get this across as well as he was able. "I'm strong enough, Charles. Strong enough for you to lean on, if you need to. I'll never begrudge you that. So, I guess I'm saying, cry if you want to. I'm in this for keeps, regardless."

Erik wasn't sure at first if he had managed to get across any meaning with his stilted sentences: the other man just seemed to stare at him for ages. When he was capable of movement again, though, his fist movement was to pull Erik in close, and kiss him in a way that Erik couldn't even categorize.

He had been kissed lots of times in his life. He had been kissed as a good use of a Friday night, as an alcoholic mistake, as a non-alcoholic mistake, as an experiment and as a dare and as revenge. As something filthy, something violent, and something exotic.

But he had never been kissed the way Charles was kissing him now. He had never been kissed like he was someone to love, and love passionately, love forever.

When they absolutely had to pull apart they stayed close, breathing in each other's air as Erik slowly recovered his ability for clear thought.

"You go start the bath. I'll get my overnight bag. I'll be back to help dry you off," he whispered ardently.

Charles' eyes when he looked at him were properly happy again, with that same playfulness behind them. His seriousness, whatever hurt he felt, or vulnerability he had suffered couldn't tamp the light of his naturally _Helligkeit_ self, and that was a welcome realization. This was still Charles. No one and nothing was big enough to destroy that.

"I'm going to clear you off a shelf for your stuff. You've been cried on, and deserve some sort of reward for that."

"All worth it then. Call me over the next time you cry so I can earn myself some space in the shower as well."

"I'll put you on speed-dial," Charles promised, pulling himself away, but leaning in again immediately to kiss Erik one last time before they went onto their own separate duties.

Erik had to make an immediate detour, though, taking a deep breath before breaching Logan's barricade of trash.

"Jesus Christ, tookya long enough!" the brawny man growled immediately. He and Raven were sitting on the only available surface: Logan's bed. Erik frowned, and wondered if there was something between the two of them. Raven was naturally flirtatious towards anyone not dating her brother, and that seemed to extend to Logan. He wondered if the feelings were mutual. He wondered why he was wasting time wondering about this when there was a hot brunet waiting for him upstairs and probably dubiously dressed.

"Listen," he started in a rush. "There's no easy way to say this so I'm just going to put it out there: I'm out."

The both of them just stared at him in absolute shock.

" _What do you mean you're out?"_ they shouted at him. Raven scavenged around for something to throw at him and came up with a machete. Luckily she was already well drunk, and missed by a wide margin, taking a chunk out of Logan's cupboard.

"I can't," Erik said stoically, refusing to be juvenile enough to whine about it. "Charles…he…I…" he couldn't come up with a proper way to explain that the guilt of going through with this would crush him under its combined weight when coupled with Charles' huge esteem for him.

"Oh God," Raven muttered, dropping her head into her hand dramatically. "We never should've lef' them together!"

Logan shook his head ruefully. "S'mistake," he sighed. "He got to 'im."

"For fuck's sake, he didn't get to me," Erik sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I know that you're too mushy hypnotized to realize this, but'you got played!" Raven accused, shaking one unsteady finger at him.

Erik stared on condescendingly. This was ridiculous.

"I did not get played. I just can't do it. I thought that I could, but I can't. Whatever. I still one-hundred percent support you guys doing it. I just can't be involved."

"So played," Logan grumbled.

"Lemme guess," Raven slurred at him. "Charles would just be so crushed to find out, jus'so absolutely shot in the fucking heart."

"He would be!"

"Yeah yeah," she grumbled. "You just love him so much and beating up his boyfriend would be so awful."

" _I'm_ his boyfriend. This person we're discussing murdering is _not_ his boyfriend," Erik set straight immediately.

"You don' un'erstand, Tom. Erik's awful," Logan said. Erik glared at him hard until he soused out his mistake. "No, I mean. Erik's good. _Tom's_ awful. Tom's _evil_."

Erik's curiosity was getting the better of him now. He still wasn't going to help, of course not, not after what had just happened between him and Charles. But that didn't mean he couldn't glean some information from these two unfortunate drunks.

"So it was Tom then? That Charles was talking about?"

They both hissed, stopping up their ears bitterly.

"We don't say their names together. It's bad luck," Raven warned.

"What happened? Between Tom and…and him?"

"Charles is Charles. _He_ is him," Logan explained, taking a long pull off Charles' good vodka.

"Fine, between _him_ and Charles?"

"Don' tell him," Raven hiccupped her advice to Logan. "Charles'll kill you. Don't tell him a goddamn thing."

Erik had to nip that in the bud immediately. "Charles told me some already" (faintly true…) "I'm just curious."

"I wasn't around when they dated," Logan answered finally, waving his way out of the discussion.

"It was awful," Raven supplied, ignoring her own advice, seemingly forgotten. "The absolute awfulest."

"He showed up here when Charles and I had been friends about a year."

"I said their names together. It was my fault," Raven sobbed. There were no tears, though, so Erik ignored her.

"Moira arrested him. Got canned over it too, since there was no legal reason to. Charles was dating Harvey at the time—the guy threatened to fucking _invent_ a legal reason to."

Erik looked to Raven for clarification and she supplied "Hot-shot lawyer boyfriend."

" _He_ managed to worm his way out of all of it."

"Because he's got Charles tied up by the heartstrings," Raven bemoaned. Erik's own heart tightened at the words. He did not like the sound of that at all.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Raven sighed, looking at Erik conspiratorially. "Ya'know how Charles is! Everybody's deserves a second whatever stuff."

"What did he finally do that got Charles so riled up? I really thought he was finally gonna let us—let us go after that creep…" Logan sighed.

It was too personal to speak of, so Erik just said, "Charles just found a new way the creep's been screwing him over for the past however-many years."

"Twelve years," Raven amended in a hollow voice. When Erik looked at her she continued. "This fucker's been at the same fucking game from day one: from the first time they met, twelve years ago. He was Charles' very first boyfriend, and Charles was as in love with him as he's ever been. What he did to Charles…" she shuddered at the thought and took another gulp of vodka. "He waited until Charles was a tinderbox and then he lit the match. He burned the heart straight out of him."

Erik shivered. He couldn't listen to this. He couldn't listen to this and adhere to his promise to stay out of it.

"Charles is all heart," Logan countered proudly.

"Then Tom burned all of him. Burned him to a fucking shell."

Erik shook his head slowly. "He's not a shell. Charles is stronger than him…than _Tom_ —whoever he is. He didn't burn him out, and he didn't break him. Nothing can break Charles."

"If it's all the same to you, I wish people would stop trying so hard at it," Raven muttered.

Erik let this unnatural optimism fall away from him; it was uncomfortable fit anyway.

"Are you going for him, then? Are you going to make the bastard pay?"

Logan and Raven exchanged an anxious glance. They weren't so drunk, as of yet, to fully ignore self-preservation.

"Charles would kill us," Logan gulped.

"He'd flay us alive. It'd be like nothing we've ever seen before," Raven agreed with a shudder.

"If Chris helped us…"

"He won't help us. Not unless Charles asks him. He won't do it for anyone less than Charles. Not unless _he_ steps out of line again."

"Who is Chris?" Erik asked.

"Chris Odinson, Tom's brother," replied Logan.

"Adopt-o-brother," corrected Raven. "Chris and Charles went to the same prep school. About drank the entire town out of hard alcohol. Chris introduced Charles to _him_ , and the poor guy's never forgiven himself for it. He’d see kicking the stuffing out of Tom as excellent atonement if _Charles_ asked him to. If only I could doppleganger into _Charles_ …"

Erik refused to follow that sentence to its logical conclusion (two Charleses, what oh what could he do with two of them around, egad, the possibilities...).

"So what? You're just going to wait for Tom to step out of line again? That's it?" he balked.

"I don't see you helping!" Raven returned.

"I _can't_ ," Erik growled.

"Because you've been manipulated to within an inch of your life," she huffed back. "God what I would give for the genetic gift that gave him those big blue eyes! I'd be able to worm my way out of straight murder!"

"Your eyes are blue enough: go kill Tom and test your premise."

"I need more alcohol if we're going to keep talking about that fucking prick," Logan claimed, muscling his way up from the floor.

"We're not. I have to get back," Erik said, checking his watch. Hopefully Charles liked long baths.

"Try not to let those big baby blues talk you out of what's left of your testicles," Raven sneered at him. Erik frowned but ignored her, leaving before he was goaded into another lengthy argument. He had _not_ been manipulated, and certainly not by anything as genteel as blue eyes, gorgeous as they were.

He was a discerning and cynical thirty-five year old in the world. He would know if he had been manipulated, surely.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which...wait, what happens in this chapter? Oh, in which Things get discussed. I'll go with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh? Ehhhhh? Eh.  
> Ps, I worked it out! I'll altually get up to 41 chapters! I wasn't lying!

Charles was typing single-mindedly at his desk when Erik finally returned, and he was dressed in quaintly blue pin-striped pajamas that did confusingly erotic things to Erik. There was a towel around his shoulders and his hair was still dripping wet, appearing almost black.

When he turned to Erik his eyes were contrasted into an even deeper blue than usual, and were so lit up with his bright eagerness that Erik found himself grinning in sunny response and wroking his way up to a to-be ignored erection.

How could someone so attractive be a cold-hearted manipulator? Raven might be his sister, but she obviously knew nothing about the man.

"I'm sorry--I got started without you. But I left you some hair to dry if you're still feeling up to it."

"At your service," Erik agreed and took up a stance just behind Charles, wrapping his hands into the plush towel and swiping them back over his damp head.

That this stance afforded him an ample view of the computer screen was completely circumstantial.

Charles closed out of the email immediately, saving it to drafts since he apparently wasn't done yet. All Erik saw was that it was directed to Thor, and that it started out _Dear friend._

"Thor?" he questioned with a chuckle. Charles glanced up at him warily, but when he saw that the meaning was more amused than inquisitorial he smiled brightly and replied.

"Rest easy, no one is going to take the prize for Most Unfortunate Birthright away from Azazel. It's just a drinking moniker."

"I suppose you have one, too, then? Don't tell me: X-Man."

Charles pouted prettily. " _ _Professor XX*__ ," he grumbled, and Erik burst out laughing. "Ha ha, yes, very funny."

"It is," Erik agreed.

"Is my hair dry yet, you heathen?"

"Dry enough to sleep in, ProfExes." Erik allowed, tossing the towel away and kissing Charles on the crown of his head. He kept a careful eye on the computer: Charles didn't sign out of his email, only closed it all out. Erik wondered if the man saved his password, or if he typed it in each time. He would find out. If Thor was Odin's son, it didn't take too much of a leap to figure out who Charles had been emailing in such a rush.

Maybe he couldn't go after Tom himself, but he could still lend some friendly advice to Raven and Logan, should they chose to act on it. And if that advice included logging into Charles’ personal email account and writing their own little friendly note to Chris, then so be it. Raven might not be able to pass for Charles in person, but he bet with some attention to detail she could certainly manage it well enough online.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Although they had not been dating long, he and Charles already had a well-rehearsed sleep routine firmly in place. Mostly it entailed Erik waiting patiently  out of harm's way until Charles had thrashed himself to sleep, and then wrapping himself around the brunet before dropping off himself.

For someone who was such a peaceful person in his day-to-day life, Charles was one aggressive sleeper. From the point of closing his eyes until he was fully under, he acted more like a revolving door than a human being, flipping from side to side and from stomach to back in a replaying loop that didn't calm until he was knees deep in the REM cycle. He curled and uncurled, stretched and unstretched, to the point where all Erik could do was stay far away and try to avoid the elbows. Only when this madness had died down could he hazard an approach, and re-maneuver Charles however was necessary to fit himself beside him. By that point the younger man had exhausted himself so fully fighting for sleep that the sleep he attained was deep and unassailable.

Erik meanwhile had a much easier sleep disposition: since the perfect position was a pipe-dream, he settled himself in however he fit and dropped off immediately. Sleep came to him on command when it planned on coming at all and if he had picked a stance that was too ridiculous, his body would wake him up to fix it later, with some pins-and-needles or a muscle ache as remonstrance.

So it was with shock that night that Erik climbed into Charles' bed and was immediately set-upon by the brunet.

Charles' room faced the courtyard behind their apartment, and was adequately pitch-black, so Erik couldn't see what was going on very well. But he didn't much need sight when he could feel the brunet pressed up against him chest-to-chest, surprisingly-strong arms acting as a vice around his midsection.

Erik wanted to balk, simply for curiosity's sake, but wasn't sure if he should. If he did would Charles stop? He didn't want Charles to stop...

"This is a surprise," he opted for instead. Not aggressive enough to engender dissonance, but not silent enough to completely avoid the issue.

"Is it okay?" Charles murmured. Erik smiled and pet back Charles' damp hair, breathing him in deeply. He smelled like himself again rather than a hotel.

"It's amazing."

"My goodness," Charles sighed. "You really are going to spoil me, Mr. Lensherr, with all this flattery."

"Flattery implies it's not true, so you'll have to pick a different noun, please."

Charles was silent on this front. Was he content? Or was he purposefully not changing his noun? Erik held him tighter and puzzled.

After a few minutes, Charles said "I really like you," so softly Erik almost asked him to repeat himself, until the words sank in.

He wasn't sure what kind of dangerous waters they were treading in here. Was this the kind of seemingly-safe conversation that turned into a break-up? Was it a one-way ticket to uncontrollable sobbing? Erik couldn't quite tell where Charles was leading him, but he had to follow along.

"I really like you, too, of course," he replied, trying not to sound as wary as he felt.

Charles sighed, as if relieved, and buried his face into Erik's chest. Erik just shook his head in confusion. He wasn't sure why Charles had needed that spelled out for him; he thought it was pretty obvious.

“It’s just…I know this isn’t what you signed up for. When you decided to date me, I mean. All this emotional stuff.”

Erik frowned into the darkness, pet Charles’ hair back gently. “It’s pretty much what I signed up for.”

He could feel Charles’ eyes on him, confused, so went on, grinning slightly. “I signed up for _you_. And this is part of you, so really it’s exactly what I signed up for.”

After a long pause the man took a deep breath against Erik's cloth T-shirt and started up in a ridiculously stammering way: "I—I'll—Erik, if you want—I mean—" then he growled at himself in frustration and spat it out forcefully. "I'll tell you about him if you want. About— _Tom_."

Erik frowned, trying to figure out the best way to go on. Thank God he had already pumped Logan and Raven for information or he didn't think he'd be able to actually do this, and he knew so well that it was the right thing to do.

“You don’t have to tell me just right now,” he murmured.

Charles pulled back in his arms, staring at him even though he couldn’t see anything.

“I don’t?”

Erik grinned, but Charles wouldn’t be able to tell, so he shrugged too. “My shirt's still wet from the last time you bawled all over me. No need to get into that again just yet.”

Charles laughed, smacking his ribs in castigation. “Jerk,” he muttered.

“Just, tell me one thing,” Erik begged, holding that punishing hand back earnestly. “Why can’t Logan and Raven go after him? Why won’t you let them avenge you? Protect you? Why won’t you let _me_ protect you?”

Charles sighed, turning onto his back to try and explain.

“I agree that Tom has done some pretty bad things _before_ , but to go after him over this—I mean, this isn’t even his fault. It’s _my_ fault for being so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Erik growled.

“Erik, what would you call it when a genius biology professor who works with latex gloves day in and day out can’t figure out that an oil-based lube is going to fuck with a latex condom?”

“That’s not your fault!” Erik insisted, scrounging around for why it wasn’t Charles’ fault. “Reed didn’t know, and he’s just as much of a biologist as you are! None of your other boyfriends ever pointed it out.”

“Reed and I never used condoms: just went straight from courtship to getting tested. I think he would have rather gotten an STD than go through the indignity of bringing a pack of condoms to a cashier. If he couldn’t do our bloodwork himself in secret I honestly believe he would have moved on to disguised shopping or theft,” Charles explained and Erik tried not to lauh because he was still arguing.

“He's not the only person you dated--they didn't know.”

“Harvey didn’t like the texture so we never messed around with Vaseline, and I think Steven would have about died if I’d said the words ‘condom’ or ‘lube’ to him out loud. That leaves stupid genius me.”

“And me. If Janos hadn’t said anything I certainly never would have known. So you’re just as dumb as I am—do you really want to call me stupid?”

“It doesn’t sound like you’ve been a good boy using condoms at all, so yes, I am going to call you stupid. Really! To have sex in the 21st century and not use condoms!”

“I use condoms! Just not with people I’m _dating_.”

“Well you are with me,” Charles chuckled.

“Until I get tested,” Erik reasoned. It had worked for that hack Reed so it had to work with him, too.

“Until we both get tested,” Charles countered ruefully. “I shudder to think about those condoms failing all this time.”

“Wouldn’t they have broken or something? I mean, if the latex was weak?” Erik didn’t imagine that Charles had only had sex with four men in his life before Erik. He was simply too good at it for that to be the case, or at least in Erik’s estimation.

“They didn’t do anything they hadn’t been doing to me since I was sixteen. I didn’t think anything of it, just assumed it came with the territory. Like I said, _stupid_.”

Erik turned over to lay most of his weight on top of Charles, growling “I might not be able to punish Tom for being a dick to you, but if you call yourself stupid one more goddamn time I’m taking you over my knee right here and now.”

“Oh my,” Charles sighed, and Erik could feel the heat of his breath against his cheek. His own breathing faltered when Charles rolled his hips beneath him, slid his hands around Erik’s waist and palmed at his ass. “Is that supposed to convince me to stop?”

Erik smiled back, hitched his hips, felt Charles’ cock taking interest beneath him.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather sleep? You’ve had a taxing day.”

“Are you kidding me? After a line like that? Who needs sleep when you can have sex?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Geddit? Like the beer! Ohhhh hahahahahaha


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik gets some practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all so sweet--here's some sex for you!

Erik agreed whole-heartedly for all that he had to be up at five the next morning. He could sleep when he didn’t have a bed full of brunet. So he found Charles’ mouth in the dark and licked his way inside it, moaned into it when Charles began to massage his ass in earnest.

“You good with taking turns?” Charles panted, thrusting up into him. Their thin bedware was perfectly teasing: sparse enough to let through the marvelous heat and heft of their solidifying erections, but still much more substantial than either of them wanted. Erik wanted to rip those damned intoxicating pinstriped pants off his boyfriend, and _now_. “I have to admit I’ve been dreaming of fucking that tight arse of yours since I saw you in your positively libidinous gray suit.”

Erik tried to ignore the question because he had already had one serious discussion that night and didn’t want another one, but when Charles shoved his hand into Erik’s underwear, one expert finger already teasing at his entrance avidly, he realized yet again he was not going to be that lucky.

“Actually…” he huffed, pulling away and shifting down the brunet until Charles’ hand couldn't reach such intimate parts of him at the moment. The man’s cock burned into his stomach and it took more will-power than Erik had thought himself capable of to not take that cock into his mouth automatically.

“What is it?” Charles questioned, moving up onto his elbows slightly. Erik was glad it was so dark in the room. This was not a conversation he was comfortable having at all, but somehow the blindness of it made it more tolerable.

“It’s a fucking awkward conversation, but I’m not really comfortable bottoming.” Erik had tried to spit it all out as quickly as possible, was glad that he had done so, but waiting for a reply was maddening. Suddenly he wished he _could_ see, just to track Charles’ reaction.

“Do you mean…not ever?” The man had obviously taken those few seconds to try to get his voice to not come out shocked and balking, but he should have taken another couple of seconds for it because Erik still managed to pick up on it.

He countered quickly, before Charles could get any ideas.

“I just mean that it’ll take some time,” he rushed. “You don’t have to break up with me. I can do it eventually…”

Charles settled back against the pillows, stroking Erik’s hair and pulling him back up the bed so they could kiss, softer, more reassuring than the minute before.

“I wouldn’t break up with you. I mean, I don’t _know_ that I would break up with you over that. I always thought of it as a deal-breaker but for you…my goodness, I guess you’re a new sort of deal all around. You’re so fantastic, Erik.”

“You’re not upset?”

“After all I’ve put you through tonight? We can take as much time as you need. You are so completely, inestimably, amazingly worth it. Worth anything.”

Erik’s heart thumped in his chest and his cheeks were hot with the flattery. Although Charles couldn’t see him, he hid his face in the man’s shoulder anyway. For all his embarrassment, though, he wanted the man more than ever, and slid an experimental hand down the man’s body, cupping him through his pajamas and making him stifle a gasp. By the feel of it the ardor hadn’t been completely drained from the situation.

“Let me suck your cock, Charles,” he whispered against the man’s throat and grinned to feel said cock twitch against his palm, feel the man groan under his lips.

“Erik,” the Brit moaned as Erik’s long fingers massaged him through his clothes. He continued breathlessly, rocking his hips into Erik’s grasp. “I should be sucking you off. You’re so good to me. I want to give you something…”

“Give me this,” Erik hissed back, squeezing him, making him buck and gasp and pant.

The man started moaning his name in earnest, wriggling beneath him pleasurably, holding onto his shoulders, his face, his hair, kissing him desperately.

“Charles,” Erik moaned back into his mouth. “Let me swallow you down.”

The smaller man’s head kicked back as his hips kicked up, and he scrabbled at Erik’s shoulder, gulping. “Oh God, oh God,” he gasped.

Erik grinned, bit his neck, sucked on it, and yanked the man’s pajamas and underwear down to his knees.

The heavy blankets seemed to trap in the sweet clean smell of Charles, like bath water and an umbered, earthy scent. Rosewood, must be. And musk. Definitely musk. When he started lipping at the man’s steel-hard cock Charles cried out softly, thrashed the blankets away off of Erik so he could see or pretend to see in the pitch-black room.

Erik had never paid especial attention to cocksucking before, hoped he got it right now. If not he’d have plenty of opportunity to improve his skills. Honestly, Charles didn’t seem a very discerning audience at the moment, one hand scrabbling mindlessly at Erik’s hair as the other gripped and clutched at pillows, sheets, Charles’ own hair—who knew what. Erik listened in to those deliciously pleased, _shocked_ sounds the man made as Erik mouthed his way up his cock from root to tip. They’d tell him if he was doing his job right.

He tried to think all the way back to his college years with that guy Mort from his internship. The best fellatio of his entire life. What had Mort done that was so fascinating, besides deep-throating him, which Erik knew full-well was beyond him at the moment? He didn’t want to embarrass himself by gagging on his first go, not when he was trying so hard to impress Charles, or rather to please him. He wouldn’t risk it.

So instead he used up all the other tricks he could remember from so long ago. With one hand holding down Charles’ rolling hips and his other wandering its way around—massaging at Charles’ puckered hole, his heavy balls, the space between the two, as well as circling around the base of his cock—he mouthed his way up, wrapped his lips fully around just the tip, tongued and sucked hard, moaning at the sweet taste of the other man, his slick skin and his beading precum.

Charles’ hand in his hair was suddenly painful like he’d never imagined the man could get, and when he glanced up he realized the man couldn’t even tell, didn’t even know he’d hurt him. Erik grinned accidentally, his teeth just grazing Charles’ foreskin. The Brit gave a sort of almost thin shriek and Erik pulled off completely, embarrassed, apologizing, but the brunet couldn’t even understand.

“Please, Erik,” the man begged, tugging him by the hair, the shirt, the _ear_. “Please, more, Erik, please, more.”

So Erik settled in again, cupping, stroking, sucking licking, and when the man yanked his hair again he experimented: he grazed his lower teeth very slightly, this time on the shaft. Same thing—ecstatic sort of yelp, back arched like a doorway, and Charles was babbling:

“Oh my oh my oh sweet mouth oh you oh wow.” Erik pulled back enough to allow himself to grin, licking the taste of Charles’ cock from his lips, from his teeth.

Charles didn’t let him get away with it for long, dragging him immediately back in by the hair, rolling his hips against Erik’s face, the wanton thing.

Erik couldn’t do much fellatio from there so he pressed an arm into Charles’ hip to shove it down enough to give him room, pumped his cock a few times in his fist and then swallowed it down again, as much of it as he could manage.

With no warning besides Charles’ keening and tensing, the man came twitching into his mouth and Erik was so surprised that he seemed to breathe at the wrong moment, aspirated pure come and wanted to cough so bad his eyes watered, but held it back, sucking Charles down until the man finally stopped spasming into him.

Then he lunged off the bed, shoulders jumping with the overwhelming desire to cough, and he hacked all of everything back up into a wad of toilet paper, sounding more like a pneumonia patient than anything that could be considered sexy. In the light of the bathroom, his face in the mirror was crimson with embarrassment. He had known his first time in a long time at fellatio wouldn’t be completely stellar, but he had at least hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself like that, especially when he had wanted at least a little bit to impress Charles.

For all his mortification he was still painfully hard, especially when he could spy his boyfriend by the light of the bathroom, splayed out and boneless and bared to him. Somehow the man’s shirt had gotten unbuttoned, so Erik had a clear view to everything not currently under the covers, from slick softening dick to dark sweaty hair.

Charles blinked dazedly up at him as he climbed onto the bed, put a woozy hand out to hold his. The line of his cock still straining against his underwear did not escape the man. Erik opened his mouth to apologize about his sprint to hack up come in the bathroom, but Charles didn’t give him the chance, hardly seemed to have noticed it.

“Do me a favor?” the man panted slightly.

“Sure.”

Charles grinned up at him dreamily, brushed his free fingertips over his own bared chest—his breastbone and lower, his abs, his navel, the coarse hairs below.

“Come on me?”

Erik had to bite back a heady gasp, grip himself through his boxer-briefs to stop himself from coming right there.

“You’re not serious!” he scoffed, or tried to.

“Do you want to?”

Erik thought about it as much as he was capable. He couldn’t imagine doing something so filthy to the other man—to wank off right _on_ him. He really didn’t know if he wanted to or not.

“Come here,” Charles directed. “Straddle me.”

Erik pulled the man’s pants back up first. He apparently couldn’t even straddle a bare cock, even a soft one, and that was worrisome, didn’t bode well for how quickly he’d manage to take it up his arse. He did as he was told though, straddling the smaller man, keeping most of his weight on his legs instead of pressing it into Charles.

The man directed him up further, took more of his weight into his hipbones and then Charles ghosted his fingers up Erik’s bared, stretched thighs. It made Erik gasp, his stomach clench.

“I think I’m too close for foreplay, _Helligkeit_ ,” he warned. It was more of a warning than Charles had been able to give him, he thought happily.

Charles grinned up at him in the wane light, and heeded his advice, pulling his underwear down, pulling his cock out. Just the feel of those long gentle fingers on him was enough to make him groan, buck.

“You have a beautiful cock, Erik,” Charles whispered up to him. Erik could tell right away that Charles was going to sweet-talk him into an orgasm. Or dirty-talk him. He just tried to breathe, to focus, to _breathe_.

“I forgot to tell you, I think, but I loved taking it up inside me. I thought maybe I’d never give it back.” Charles pulled off him, spit into his palm, pumped fast a few times before slowing to a maddening pace. Erik moved to help the man along, but Charles pushed his hand away. “Don’t touch,” he said strictly, and Erik could understand how the man was a professor. “Hold onto me if you have to, but don’t touch yourself.”

Erik choked with the unfairness of that but held onto Charles’ ribs, thrusting up into his grasp, groaning. Charles’ hand stopped completely, gripped him hard by the base. “Behave,” he warned, and when Erik forcefully stilled his hips the man finally continued.

“Nobody’s ever fucked my arse like you do. I could swear by the end of it I could taste your come in the back of my throat you were so deep in me,” Charles hummed and when Erik wailed plaintively he sped his hand up again, but not half so fast as Erik could wish.

“Don’t be mean,” Erik gasped, panted, groaned, whined. He’d have never thought he’d have to say that to Charles.

“I am being mean,” Charles laughed. “I’ll be nice. I’ll wring that cock of yours until you come all over me and then I’ll lick it up, pet.”

And Charles was true to his word, his hand working, working, wringing, and he didn’t stop when Erik began to thrust up, up and in and on and was suddenly coming, crying out with his orgasm, shaking and mindless and wrecked with it.

Charles didn’t force composure on him as he was half-thinking he would. He let Erik topple to the side, controlled the topple so it was gentle. When Erik could see straight again he could see the gleaming streaks of his seed over Charles’ throat, his ribs and his stomach.

The brunet grinned at him happily, pressed one finger through a heavy white track and sucked the finger clean again and Erik thought if he were eighteen still he’d be hard all over again. As it was he struggled up onto an elbow, took Charles’ mouth possessively, kissed him with all the passion and affection and desire he felt and felt as if he would always feel.

“You’ve marked me now,” Charles murmured when he pulled away. Erik nodded, kissed him all over again.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Cleaned up and exhausted, they fell into bed anew. Erik didn’t even dare look at the clock. He didn’t want to know how much time he had to sneak sleep into.

“Will you set your alarm for four-forty? Or did you want to cry some more first?”

Charles hit him, but laughed.

“You don’t really want to tease the person in charge of setting your alarm, dear, just so you know. And four-forty, too! What an ungodly hour. I must really like you to let you wake me up at four-forty…”

"Don’t fret, dove, I won’t wake my pretty pet,” Erik teased, slipping an arm around his waist affectionately when the man laid back down from alarm-setting, sated and sleepy.

"As if you'll be able to help it," Charles grumbled.

"Surely you kid. I'm not certain an _airstrike_ would wake you."

"I'll wake up. You'll see," the stubborn git insisted, sounding determined. Erik didn't doubt it _now_. He had the bad habit of surrounding himself with people who were adamant on never being proven wrong. If Charles had to _stay up_ till 5, he would be up with Erik, there was no doubt.

"Goodnight, _Helligkeit_."

"Goodnight, darling," Charles sighed in response.

And promptly turned back into a revolving door in Erik's arms. The taller man sighed and got clear, gritting his teeth through a heel to the shin.

"Sorry, baby," Charles laughed.

"No. I absolutely veto ' _baby_ '."

“You snuck ‘dove’ and ‘pretty pet’ in there. Don’t complain about ‘baby’.”

“I most certainly _will_ complain about ‘baby’.”

"Okay, _Katzchen_."

"Damnit, Charles…You put this on my boyfriend tab: I'm wracking up points here and when I turn them in you're telling me everything about anything I want to know about."

The man only laughed and leaned over enough to kiss Erik on the mouth again, tasting like toothpaste instead of come now.

"Whenever you're ready, _Katzchen_."

Erik just frowned and thrummed his fingers on his chest waiting for Charles to fall asleep. Once that was finally done he leaned over and grabbed Charles' alarm clock, shoving it under his own pillow. Maybe the man would try to join Emma in the crusade to always be right, but damnit, Erik was going to give him a run for his money.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik cheats to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cheated in this chapter too! Erik's tactics for finding out passwords are completely fictional. Don't work one freaking smidge at all. But, just like Loki, I do what I want.

Erik awoke on the first chime and his hand was already under his pillow so he tamped down on the alarm mid-ring. In the aftermath, there was only silence and Erik blinked himself fully awake in it, awaiting any movement from his bed-partner that would show awareness.

Erik must have turned over his in his sleep, because he was facing away from Charles, even though he clearly remembered curling up around the man once the human pinwheel was sleeping. Normally this would upset him—he liked sleeping wrapped around Charles, and being cheated of it unwittingly was frustrating. But he couldn't find the urge to complain, feeling the smaller man pressed close to his back, breathing steady into his spine, one lean arm not thrown over his stomach like an accident but clutching with affectionate purpose.

He smiled into his pillow and forgot himself enough to reach down and stroke Charles' arm, his warm skin, the scratch of hair, the clean fold of his pinstriped pajamas.

"M'wake," Charles mumbled against him, twitching more fully out of sleep.

Damnit, Erik had almost won. But…

"Of course you're awake, I just woke you up," he said condescendingly.

"No—no, I was’wake before that. I woke up when the alarm went off," Charles whined, adding his other arm to the mix and squeezing Erik tight around the stomach.

"Of _course_ you were," Erik tsked, all pitying placation.

" _Eriiiiik_ ," the man growled but Erik didn't respond, just smiled. Charles continued in a bitter grumble, "Okay, but I _was_ awake."

Erik didn't bother arguing further, just went to turn over to face his boyfriend and move on to more important topics. Charles didn't let him at first, holding him still for one last bone-crushing squeeze, wrapping his legs around Erik's to squeeze those too and pushing his face between Erik's shoulder blades. That done, though, Erik was allowed to do as he pleased, so he moved onto his other side, taking in Charles' sweetly sleepy sprawl.

The room was still midnight- dark, so he couldn't see much, just the basic outline of his man tucked warmly under the covers.

"Are you okay?" he questioned.

He could feel the blank gaze on him, and the shift of the weight of the silence when Charles realized what he was talking about.

"Yes," the Brit murmured. Erik tried to pin him with a searching gaze, although it was hard to get across in the dark. Charles seemed to understand though, shifting under the covers, rubbing up against Erik cheekily. "Want me to show you just how okay I am?"

Erik opened his mouth to tease Charles about his wantonness, but thought better of it. He only meant it playfully, but there was every chance the man could take it the wrong way, and Erik didn't think he could stand another serious discussion so soon on the heels of the last two.

He wondered if this sore spot was also a legacy of Tom's, or if he had another ex to sic Logan and Raven on.

Speaking of which…

"Sorry, _Helligkeit_ —I've got work. On that note, can I use your computer?"

"Of course," Charles allowed readily. "Whilst you do that, I'll be a good little housewife and make you breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Erik balked. "But I just ate last night."

"You're supposed to eat _three times a day_ ," Charles laughed.

Erik scoffed with practiced ease. "Three times a day—that's for children."

"Regular meals aren't like teething rings, you don't outgrow them."

"I suppose you're going to tell me _you_ eat three times a day?" Erik mused.

"Uh, _yeah_."

Erik wasn't sure he believed him, but he _was_ sure that if they kept arguing about it he wouldn't have time to analyze illicit emails, so he let it go, only saying, “Well I might have to work my way up to that.”

"I'll make you lunch then," Charles said cheerily as they were getting each other dressed.

Erik knew that he should say that Charles didn't have to make him anything—didn't have to get up with him, didn't have to take care of him—but he couldn't bring himself to. Really, he rather liked it. More than rather, actually.

So Erik brushed his teeth and combed his hair as Charles got the computer set up, and kissed the man lightly on the cheek as he went to make him lunch. Erik was incredibly curious as to what the man would make him. Normally for lunch he had coffee. Then, if he was still hungry, he had more coffee.

Really, anything Charles came up with had to be more nutritious than that.

Erik pushed all that to the back-burner though as he pulled up Charles' web browser, listening to make sure the man was well away before going into his email. Just as he had suspected—the page went immediately to Charles' inbox. The man had a password on his computer as a whole to keep his mischievous sister out, but that was all. It was everything Erik could do not to hold his breath as he went into the drafts, opening the one from last night.

_Dear friend,_

_I hope this finds you well. I know it's been too long since we last spoke. How are your mother and father? I was so sorry to hear about you and Jane. I'm here, of course, if you ever need to talk. I feel as if we haven't spoken in ages, although I suppose it was only just last month._

_Well, I can't say that I haven't written you with a purpose: I'm afraid I've made a rather ridiculous mistake. You see, last night I may have accidentally told Raven and Logan to go after Tom. I'm sorry—I'm so_

That was as far as Charles had gotten, it seemed.

Erik pouted. He had been hoping for something more worth his while, something along the lines of “Hello Chris, let’s go over every terrible thing Tom has ever done to me so that my boyfriend can find out without actually have to be awkward enough to ask me.” No such luck, he guessed.

Disappointed, he logged out of Charles’ email. When he started to type the man’s email back in it came up on his own and then supplied his password. It was simple then to copy and paste it into something legible. He texted Raven with Chris’ email and her brother’s password and hoped she’d be discreet enough so that he’d never rue this day.

Then, since he was there, he figured he might as well check his own emails while he was at it.

There was one from Emma, whom he was trying to avoid, but he read it since reading did not exactly necessitate replying.

_Azazel told me about your little surprise visit to Metropolis. I CANNOT BELIEVE you would undertake something of this magnitude and not tell your BEST FRIEND._

_CALL ME._

Erik frowned, considered deleting it on the spot. The thing was, though, Emma wasn't going to go away because he was ignoring her. All she'd do was get even more pissed off. And at a certain point that anger wasn't going to be appeased by simply screaming at him. At a certain point she'd want to bring her anger to the source. It might be Erik's fault that he was ignoring her, but it was Charles' fault for hypnotizing him with his cock in the first place, and Emma wasn't one to let the disease escape while she punished the symptoms.

So he emailed her back, terse and bitter, refusing to call her because her harpy tones came across phone lines, but happy to email back and forth so long as she could contain her caps lock. Hopefully that would be enough to keep her off his and his boyfriend's backs.

Then he scanned his other emails and saw something unexpectedly pleasing:

Armando had written him.

The kid was helping with a research study in the Galapagos with zero internet, so Erik hadn't heard from the boy since early summer.

_Hi Mr. Lensherr._

_I just wanted to tell you that I'll be in town for the holiday. I was hoping we could set up something—a dinner? drinks?—so I can see the café crew again. I know it'd be a pain for you to get everyone together. I guess I was hoping there were some new people I wouldn't miss who could cover the café long enough for us to eat/drink? What do you think? I understand if it won't work out; just wanted to run it past you._

_-Armando_

Erik mused that over before heading to the kitchen to check on his boyfriend.

The man was just putting lunch wares into a paper bag for him, and positively beamed when he walked in.

"Hey, I thought I was going to have to head in after you! You're going to be late."

"That's okay, I think the boss will let it slide," Erik replied, moving behind the brunet to hold him around the waist.

"Hmm," Charles hummed, leaning back into his embrace. "Do you think he'd let you bring your boyfriend to work for a bit? I still have some time before my office opens."

"He'd love it—he's got a big crush you, you know," he said, kissing Charles just on the nape of the neck. It was an amazing feeling—the brush of Charles' long hair, the warm skin, the intoxicating scent of him somehow stronger here—Erik didn't know why he didn't do it more often. He would rectify this mistake, daily if he could manage it.

"You'll have to tell him I'm a taken man," Charles moaned breathily. Erik licked his lips and his tongue accidentally just barely grazed Charles' skin, making the smaller man shiver. With a growl Erik gripped the man's waist possessively, pulling him back onto himself.

"Taken indeed," he murmured, wishing he had the time to take him right there. Instead he had to pull away or risk bringing this exchange to its logical conclusion without enough time to conclude it.

"Come on, before we start something we can't finish."

"Too late," Charles pouted.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Erik should have known better to think that Charles wouldn't get him back for that accidental teasing, but the brunet was so well behaved and for so long that Erik rather forgot there was anything to be gotten back for, so that when it did come about it was an electric shock of surprise.

The man was a dutiful boyfriend: he helped Erik take down the chairs before Sean arrived—restocked the espresso machine, turned on the lights in the back room and put away Erik's lunch, unlocked the bathroom. As Erik set out the wares for the day at the espresso maker, Charles got the point of sale machine primed, chattering away happily through the whole process.

It was only when the man went suddenly silent that Erik turned around to see Charles examining the space under the counter where they stored the stools for the kids to use during slow stretches.

"What is it?" he questioned. Charles looked at the height of the bar appraisingly and then at Erik.

"Do you think I could suck you off while you took coffee orders?"

Erik stared—couldn't move, could swallow, couldn't talk—just stared. Charles grinned back mischievously. Was he _requesting_ , like right here and now in the middle of finals week? Or for a later date and time? Or was he just wondering out of a teasing sort of curiosity?

"Do you think," Charles asked, tilting his head to the side gently, blue eyes glinting, "that you could get through a whole transaction with your cock in my mouth?"

Erik choked down a gulp and coughed himself into speech.

"Well, but, I mean, I wouldn't be able to make any coffee," he said, motioning to the space between the cash register and the espresso machine.

Charles followed the motion with his eyes almost predatorily and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something cheeky, but then Sean walked in the back door—chime going off aggravatingly—earning Erik's wrath for the rest of the day.

"Sorry I'm late!" the kid called. "My bike lock wasn't working. I'm just gonna put it back here, is that okay?"

"Put it in the fucking alley and I hope it gets stolen!" Erik shouted back.

"That's fine, Sean," Charles superseded. There was a short silence filled with surprise, and the Sean called back, "Hi, Mr. Xavier. So Angel was telling the truth? You guys are really dating?"

Erik couldn't speak for a moment he was so busy pouring all his anger into one cutting sentence, but Charles replied with a happy affirmative before he was back online.

Sean poked his flaming mop of hair around the door frame, staring at them nervously.

"So, did I like interrupt something kinky?"

"No," Charles lied with a smile so that if Erik didn't _know_ it was a lie he didn't think he would have been able to tell it was a lie. "I should be going—it's six."

"You—get behind the counter," Erik growled at Sean, and went to walk Charles out the front door.

They kissed goodbye, Charles leaning up to kiss him chastely. Erik put his hands on the professor's shoulders and deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue against Charles' and reveling in the hot slide of it against his. Although he had just been inside the younger man on Saturday, he was all too willing to do it all over and over and over again.

Charles apparently felt the same: he gripped Erik's hips tightly and couldn't seem to help pressing into them.

"Maybe once the café is closed we could open it up for some extra-curriculars, hm?" the man teased against his lips.

"You really are going to be the death of me, Professor," Erik admitted.

Charles pulled away fully, eyes glinting at him without an ounce of shame anywhere in sight. "Oh all _right_. I'll give you a couple rounds of proper vanilla sex to acclimate you to the basics, and after that we'll try our luck around campus, yes? Start out with the espresso bar and work our way up to a lecture hall? It feels just like a production stage, and the acoustics are marvelous."

"I'll start making a list," Erik agreed.

"We'll tick them off one by one. I can hardly wait to get started," Charles growled, and kissed Erik again with vehemence before he took his leave.

"You two just made out on a public sidewalk," Sean retched when he got back. "It was like seeing my parents make out. I think I'm going to be sick."

"I think you're going to be _maimed_ if you don't shut up and get back to work," Erik growled back. He had a lot to think about, and none of it worked well with Sean whining in the background.

He wondered how many rounds of vanilla sex would be necessary to work his way up to the big leagues. He had never fucked anyone outside of a house before, if you didn't count all those times with Mort, and Erik didn't because they hadn't actually fucked—he had only ever let Mortimer suck him off since the man was so good with his tongue and seemed so avid for it.

Even all those years with Magda they had never strayed from their dorms or then their house—well, _his_ house. Adventurous as she had been outside of the bedroom, she had been incredibly shy _in_ the bedroom. Well, not really shy, since she liked to pretend that she was so much more worldly than he was: more like prudish. Except she liked to think of herself as a wild-woman pushing every boundary known to man. Regardless of what she thought of herself, compared to Charles she was shaping up to be a regular shrinking violet.

Erik wondered how Emma would fit all this in to her estimation of Charles as a sweet little puppy, thought about calling her, decided against it. He knew it should be more vexing, going without his best friend, but somehow it was hard to keep that in mind with Charles sweet and seductive around him all the time.

"What is it?" Sean questioned nervously.

"What are you talking about?"

Sean looked him up and down like he was coming down with smallpox.

"You're smiling."

He was, he realized, trying to rub it out of his face, but it couldn't be helped.

"So? I'm allowed to smile in my own café."

Sean just stared even harder and then whistled. "Man oh man, you've got it bad."

"Get back to work," he repeated with a roll of his eyes. Because really, what argument was there for that?


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik and Emma refuse to stop being stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap you guys we're almost done!

Emma, when she saw him next, a few weeks later, seemed to agree with Sean’s estimation. Unfortunately, Erik couldn’t tell her to get back to work.

Charles, half concerned for their friendship and half fed up with Erik perforating his keyboard by typing so violently, had convinced them to just sit down together and work this thing out, and had set up time for them to do it in. Erik would head over to Emma when she got off work and they had exactly two hours to see eye-to-eye before Erik had Armando’s dinner to go to.

He was tempted to just park in Emma’s garage and waste the two hours reading _The Taming of the Shrew_. But Emma had already threatened to catch him at work, and Charles had already threatened to throw out his computer, so he supposed there was no other way but to see this thing through and explain to Emma that she either needed to start loving the shit out of Charles or stop talking to him about it completely.

She met him at her door looking pristine, and, as always, they started the evening off pretending nothing was the matter between them.

“You look nice,” he commented, kissing her cheek, before limping his way inside.

“Why are you limping?” Emma jumped on immediately. He flopped down onto her couch, wondering how they were going to be able to keep up this charade once he had to introduce Charles into the discussion.

“Oh, I think I messed my knee up fooling around with Charles this morning,” he complained, rubbing the aching joint. He had thought that he’d simply walk it out, but it only seemed to make it worse. He guessed they’d have to keep their sexual escapades purely horizontal while it healed. It galled that his body was apparently too old and decrepit at only 35 to properly service his boyfriend against a wall. Well, he was sure he could manage that much, but maybe next time he should at least make Charles support his own weight.

Emma in the meantime gagged in bitter disgust.  Saying the brunet’s name caused her to lose any veneer of hospitality and she continued the conversation with a sneer, just as Erik had feared. “I can only image the ridiculous vanilla flavor of your sexlife with that Sesame Street candidate of a man.”

“Really? As much as you make fun of his cardigans you pass up the Mr. Rogers potshot?”

Emma ignored him to mock. “I bet he has a baby doll fetish. I bet he makes you talk baby talk to him.”

Erik pretended to wrack his memory.

“He makes me call him ‘Daddy’ when he whips me, does that count?”

“He does _not_ whip you,” she scoffed back, blanching.

“He used to do horseback riding when he was a kid,” Erik divulged, smiling toothily. “He still has the riding crop.”

The woman seemed on less steady footing here, had to fall back on pure dismissal.

“You’re lying,” she insisted.

“I’m lying,” Erik laughed in agreement. “He doesn’t _make_ me call him ‘Daddy’....I do it on my own.”

“You think this is some kind of joke, don’t you?” she snarled, pouring them both a healthy helping of premium scotch. Erik only sipped his. He didn’t want to be hampered from driving out of here like a bat out of hell if she got rowdy enough to really annoy him.

“I don’t think it’s a joke at all. I think it’s awful. The first time in seven years I find a guy I actually like and you’re only goal is to break us up,” he growled bitterly.

Emma collapsed next to him on the couch, half-overlaying him with her silk-clad knees in his lap.

“How can you be so sure he’s the only guy you like when you haven’t even tried out all the men I just know would be permanently perfect for you?”

Erik shrugged, drank more. “If you actually got to know him you’d understand. Come to the dinner with us tonight. If you still hate him after you know two full things about him then we can just stop being friends until he and I break up, and then we can be friends again, mmkay pumpkin?”

Emma stared at him abjectly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she screeched, jumping up to her feet, her long dress spilling around her. “You’d stop being friends with me over this two-bit junior upstart?! We’ve been friends for ten fucking years you dick! You’ve know Professor Fluff for a whole month!”

Erik was unfazed. “You’re the one that’s so sure we’re going to break up tomorrow. Wait it out.”

Needless to say things only degenerated from there. Emma refused to go to the dinner, Erik refused to meet any of her vicarious love-interests. He couldn’t understand why she would flat out refuse to sit and talk with Charles, and she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t put his relationship on hold long enough to go to a simple dinner with Steve or Bruce or Hal or whoever she seemed to think would be such a better match for him than Charles Xavier.

They didn’t quite go so far as to put their friendship on hiatus. She was his only friend and she had held this spot in his heart for ten years--he wasn’t the type to let things like that go over one dispute. Despite Charles’ seeming adoration of him there was also the matter that Charles was so much more amazing than he was, would realize this, and would dump him: he didn’t want to break up with Emma over this and then have it become a moot point when Charles dumped him.

So they just agreed to be very upset with one another. They had been very upset with one another before (Sebastian Shaw); they’d gotten over that and Erik figured they’d get over this too, although if Emma was waiting for Charles to pull a Shaw and suddenly become enough of a psycho asshole to break up with then Erik had bad news for her. In the meantime, he would have to hide his wrathful typing from Charles or risk another equally pointless intervention, probably.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Back at Charles’, Erik jangled his leg, checking his watch again as he kicked Raven's ass at Call of Duty.

"He'll be ready when he's ready. Stop checking your watch like a creep."

"What's that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of you dying," he replied, shooting her in the head.

"Fucking asshole!" she shouted, hitting him with her controller. Since he couldn't shoot Raven in real life he had gotten very much into playing murderous video games with her, and discovered he had quite a knack for it.

"I never should have let Sean bring this over," the blonde growled.

Erik would have agreed, but Charles made an appearance then, looking sharp in black slacks and a dark turtleneck.

He jumped up immediately, throwing his controller at Raven and hoping it hit her before limping forward enough to wrap Charles up in his arms.

"You look amazing," he growled, dragging the brunet close and kissing him breathless.

"Stop it, I'm going to throw up," Raven gagged. Both men had gotten very adept at ignoring her by now, and did so now with practiced ease.

"You think so? It took me forever to find something that would cover up all the—well, you know," Charles laughed, touching his throat and glancing at Raven.

Erik knew very well. It had taken him half the night to mark up Charles' neck and he had enjoyed every moment of it.

Charles' biology final had come and gone, which proved to be the easy part. Grading all those finals was more challenging. As it was, Charles had read so many variations of the same essay that he had started grading them in his sleep, giving Erik the groggy rundown of why he was getting a seven instead of a ten.

Erik took his boyfriendly duties very much to heart and did his best to fuck Charles into such a stupor that he couldn't speak when awake, much less in his sleep. It seemed to be working: Erik hadn't heard a peep out of the man all last night, and if love-bites were what it took to give him a full night's rest with no midnight lectures on cellular regrowth in paralytic patients then so be it.

"I'm not twelve," Raven whined. "So he bit your neck to smithereens. You don't have to shy away from it around me."

"Marking my neck up you're suddenly adult about, but kissing in the living room is enough to make you bulimic," Charles pointed out argumentatively. Raven pretended she couldn't hear him.

"Well, let's head out," Erik proposed, and then turned to Raven. "You still coming for drinks?"

“You buying?” she asked hopefully. Erik wasn’t sure why--Charles had already admitted that they were pretty much exorbitantly rich.

He just stared at her flatly until she pouted and collapsed back on the couch.

“That bestie of yours has put you in a foul mood. Want me to beat her up for you?”

“Yes,” Erik answered at the same time as Charles said, “Of course not!”

“We are not pitting your best friend against my best friend,” Charles admonished him.

“Obviously--that would be unfair, Moira has a gun. We’re pitting my best friend against your sister.”

“Just let her come around on her own!” Charles sighed dramatically, like he was explaining something to an ornery child. “She’ll realize we’re serious once you’ve proposed to me and I’ve made you my wife.”

“Somewhere Emma is turning in her grave before she’s in it,” Erik lamented, hoping it hid the fact that even though he was definitely a man he couldn’t say he’d mind one day being Charles’ wife.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things come to a close.

The restaurant was the German place up the road where he and Raven had made amends. He felt not the slightest bit badly about using Armando's visit as an excuse to introduce Charles to fine German fare.

"I don’t understand why you’re so upset about Emma not getting on with me. I mean, it's impossible for _everyone_ to like me. We can still be perfectly civil to one another."

Erik didn't attempt to explain that Emma didn’t have a job that hinged heavily on civility. Add to that her white trash roots and you were looking at someone with an NRA membership and grits enough to live up to it. He put his arm around Charles' waist and kissed his hair. "You have to admit that it's certainly an anomaly," he pointed out.

"Well she hardly knows me. I've only spoken to the woman once, and for barely fifteen minutes! That's not quite enough time for my charm to set in," Charles teased, holding Erik back.

"I don't know: it took a lot less time than that with me."

The brunet smiled up at him, blue eyes clear and bright under the street-lights.

"Well, you're a quick study, my friend."

\--------------------------------------------------

The kids were already crammed into Madchen's, but they had smartly left two places open next to Armando at the head of the table for Erik and Charles. Erik didn't think he was imagining things when he noticed their welcome of Charles was just as warm as their welcome of their boss (maybe even more so).

Alex and Sean sat across from Erik and his date, bad luck but not surprising since they were Armando's particular friends. Hank was next, and Erik was happy the lanky boy was in too awkward a position to take up all of Charles' time with science talk as he was normally wont to do. Beside Charles sat Azazel, which was good since he and Charles seemed to be such bosom buddies. If Erik didn't know any better he would accuse his boyfriend of cultivating the soft-speaking man in order to get into Emma's good graces. But of course Charles' mind just didn't work that way.

As they sat down Erik introduced Charles to Armando warmly and took the smaller man's jacket to hang over the back of his chair.

Armando stared outright.

"Did you get a head injury since I left?" the dusky man asked, shocked.

"Just as bad," Alex laughed. "He got a boyfriend."

Armando shifted to stare at Charles.

"Are you a wizard?"

"Yeah," Sean piped in crudely. "And he keeps his wand down his pants."

Erik aimed a kick at him under the table and, judging by the sizeable yelp, he connected excellently.

"I'm sorry I keep staring—I'm not used to meeting his boyfriends while he's still dating them," Armando pointed out.

"Does he normally hide us away once he decides to date us?" Charles questioned teasingly and Erik shifted uncomfortably in his seat, willing the conversation to end right there.

"No, normally we don't hear about them till they’re _ex_ -boyfriends," Armando laughed.

Erik moved on from will-power to actively stopping this discussion by calling the waitress over and getting the process of ordering food going. He didn't need a menu he had been here so many times and he had already chosen what he would force Charles to have as his first-time foray into German food.

Azazel took over Charles' attention after that and Erik caught up with what Armando had been doing for the last few months in the Galapagos, which unfortunately meant having a conversation with Alex and Sean as well. He was convinced the boys' IQs nosedived around one another.

Armando quickly turned the questions away from his studies though and towards the enigma of the hour.

"How long have you two been dating?" he whispered to Erik.

"I don't know," Erik lied with a nonchalant shrug. "A month or so I guess."

"Is he okay?" Armando asked next, but he was asking Sean and Alex. Both of them nodded ecstatically, whether because Erik was sitting right there and would embalm them for anything less or because they were actually that enthused with Charles he wasn't entirely sure. Probably it was a little of both. Still, Erik was happy that he was finally at a table full of people who appreciated Charles for the wonder that he was. He was glad now that Emma had been offended into not coming.

"He's great," Sean said, a little over-loud. "Nothing like Nay."

"Who's Nay?" Charles asked, so good at picking up on conversations Erik didn't want to have.

"Nathan Mor," Alex explained, grinning like a loon at putting Erik in this position.

"He didn't tell you about Nay?" Armando laughed. "Goes to show a leopard can't change his spots I guess."

"I was going to tell you," Erik pointed out. Charles just squinted at him meanly.

"Well, you can tell me now."

"He was this guy I used to date. Before you, I mean. Long before you."

"He was a swimmer," Sean added.

"Why did you break up with him again, Mr. Lensherr?" Armando prompted and Erik sighed but responded, picking at the table's wood grain as he did so.

"He smelt like chlorine all the time," he muttered.

When everyone laughed, his face turned red and he felt goaded into explaining the hilarity out of the situation.

"He made all my clothes stink! I was doing laundry all the fucking time!"

"Gunther Bain is still my absolute favorite—were you guys around for Gunther?" Armando asked the other two. They shook their heads bashfully. By now the whole table was in on it, and Armando turned to Az next. "You were there, weren't you?"

"Gunther? Yes, I was there. I had to go with Emma to the police station to press charges," he said, and his regular quiet voice made it sound dramatic. Erik dropped his head into his palm and tried to shrink up in his chair.

" _What_?" Charles shouted. "What are you talking about?"

"Erik hasn't told you about this?"

"Erik doesn't tell me anything," Charles growled.

"We got in a fistfight and Emma tried to get him arrested," Erik said in one frustrated rush. "Really, there's nothing to tell!"

"The guy was a pro wrestler," Armando informed everyone, and when they all demanded the story from the beginning he accepted with relish.

"One day Mr. Lensherr comes in with a black eye—okay, we figure someone finally put him in his place for being such a bastard. Not too shocking. Run of the mill conversation: 'What happened Mr. Lensherr?' 'Nothing' 'Well, something happened to you, you've got a black eye' 'I have a new boyfriend' 'And he's a wife-beater?' 'We got into a fight'. Well that was all Az needed to hear to tell Emma, and that was all Emma needed to hear to go straight to the police."

"Unfortunately Erik was a true battered wife and refused to press charges," Az sighed.

"It was a _fist-fight_ ," Erik defended. "I dealt out just as much as I took in. I would have been just as much in jail."

"I don't see how," Armando said dubiously. "We saw the guy later on TV and he had to be—what? Three hundred pounds? Two-fifty? At least 6'5"—right?"

Az nodded solemly. Charles was staring at him with fright.

"He _hit_ you?" he choked.

Erik shrugged. This was not as melodramatic as everyone was making it out to be, but Charles was not going to give up on the subject of someone hitting him until it all came out. "I laughed at him and he punched me. I punched him back, we brawled for a while. The end."

"Punching is not a proper response to laughing," Charles argued.

“Wellll I sort of laughed at him during sex,” Erik explained.

“Steroids, I knew it,” Armando groaned.

“You got beat up by someone on steroids?” Sean gasped.

“He didn’t beat me up!” Erik growled. “And he wasn’t on steroids!”

“He sure was built like someone on steroids,” Armando argued.

Charles looked like he was about to have a seizure so Erik tried to make him feel better: "They're exaggerating: he was two-fifty _tops_ and definitely wasn't more than like 6'2" or so."

"His size is not the part of this conversation I'm taking issue with," Charles growled.

"I'm not exaggerating—are you exaggerating Azazel?" Armando questioned. The quiet man shook his head.

"He was built like an absolute fridge."

Erik glared between the both of them. "Well I learned my lesson: I never dated a single person after that I didn't think I could take in a fight."

Charles dropped his head into his hand and shook it wearily, thoroughly unnerving Erik.

"You guys are being awful," he complained. "This is supposed to be a fun dinner about Armando—not a foray into my entire dating history."

"Dating catastrophe, more like," Az corrected.

"Change the goddamn subject before I fire the lot of you," Erik threatened in a snarl, clutching his table knife antagonistically, and even though it was dull they all took his advice.

"How ‘bout that finals week, huh?" Alex shouted quickly, and they all tripped over themselves to discuss business, apart from Azazel who was completely unflappable and Charles who was not so easily intimidated.

"You should have told me that, you know," he said to Erik flatly.

Erik couldn't meet his eye so he picked at his cuffs uneasily.

"I know."

"I told you about Tom.”

Erik argued back, “Hey, I told you about some things!” It was hard to reference his distaste for bottoming at a table full of his impressionable employees, but he knew Charles would know what he was talking about, mainly because it was the only thing he had told Charles about his old dating life.

Charles shrugged petulantly. "I can't control when you choose to tell me things. You'll tell me when you're ready. I just thought you trusted me, that’s all. I’m just surprised.”

Erik felt miserable, and his miserableness clamped down on his suspicion that maybe Raven had been right about her brother’s knack for manipulation. He reached slightly to hold Charles' hand. "I didn't not tell you because I wasn't ready to tell you—it's just that I never think about them. Certainly not around you. They just weren't important to me."

Charles just patted his hand. He didn't believe him. Damn it. How to get the maximum amount of credibility with the minimum amount of time? He growled and pulled on Charles' arm until the other man finally looked him in the eye where he could pin him with a stare.

"I dated three men before you, four if you count Mort, and I don't, and I’ve dated more women than that, and I don't think about a single solitary one of them when I'm with you, besides maybe Magda. I only think of you, do you understand? The only reason I never mentioned them was because they never crossed my mind. The _only_ reason."

Charles stared at him for another few seconds and then slowly smiled.

"Everyone's staring at us."

Erik blinked back, glancing around the table where, sure enough, all eyes were on them.

"What the fuck are you looking at? Get back to work!" Erik growled, since it was his go-to phrase normally.

"But we're not at work!" Sean keened, glancing around nervously as if searching for some work that he could do just so he wouldn't be accused of not following orders.

The rest of them laughed and Charles tugged himself free of Erik's grasp, but he didn't look angry or disappointed anymore. Indeed, he leaned over enough to kiss Erik just at the angle of his jaw.

"We're continuing this subject at home, darling," he murmured into Erik's ear and the taller man knew that there would be no putting it off any further. But damn it, if he had to share then so did Charles.

“I’ll tell you about Gunther if you tell me about Tom,” he bartered.

“I did tell you about Tom.”

“ _All_ about Tom,” Erik explained, because he might be easily hypnotized by blue eyes but even he had recognized the fact that Charles had been holding back.

Charles looked at him appraisingly.

“I’ll trade you Tom for Magda. I’ll give you Reed for Gunther, though.”

“I want the rest of those boyfriends of yours, too,” Erik pitched in.

Charles shrugged. “We’ll see what you have to offer, first.”

Erik frowned, tried to glare him into being more generous, but it had no effect. “Damn it, you’ve watched too much Law and Order.”

“You can tell Emma I might switch professions. I think I’m pretty good at is lawyer stuff.”

Erik had no inclination to tell Emma any such thing: she liked Charles little enough from encroaching on her friendship without also encroaching into her career.

Other than that, dinner was great fun, even for someone as anti-social as Erik. It helped that he was being social with people he knew and mostly liked as opposed to the rest of humanity, which he hated as a starting point. Still, he wasn't sad when they had to get up to move to the bar. The last time he had gotten as drunk as he planned on getting tonight he’d bagged a new boyfriend, after all.

Charles’ body was warm beside him as they ambled south behind their posse, his arm solid around Erik’s waist. It held him at a stand-still when they passed the drug store. Erik glanced down at him, not a little worried, and Charles was staring up at him joyfully.

“It’s our song!” he explained, pointing up at the speakers piping music out to the sidewalk. He listened in. Something old school, he could tell, but that was it. He wasn’t good with music.

“We have a song?”

“Well,” Charles blushed brightly. “It was playing. When he first met, I mean. I only remember because of the line—just when we shook hands— _Take my hand…_ ”

Erik grinned cheekily and pulled away, extended his hand and said, “Take my hand” just as the song was saying the same thing, and he found it hard to swallow when the verse continued, _Take my whole life, too._

“For I can’t help falling in love with you,” Charles grinned back, and took his hand.

“You guys coming or what?” Sean screamed at them--the group was stopped down the street waiting for them.

“I’m coming!” Charles called back to them, dragging Erik forward though to press against him and murmur against his jaw, “That’s not the last time you’ll be hearing that tonight.”

Erik realized he would never be able to break up with Charles because the thought of him being so amazingly sexually awesome with any other person on Earth was physically traumatizing for him. Damn but Emma had chosen a bad instance to argue against him. She’d never been on more securely on the losing side of an argument in her life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, dears! In a sense, I mean. If you want to keep your happy feelings stop right there. If you want more drama in your romcoms then go ahead and read the epilogue. But don't say I didn't warn you!


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's some dramaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because after forty chapters of mostly good cheer I of course have to make things intense. Because feelings. If that doesn't sound like something you want pleaaasssseeee don't read this.

He spun his pen between his long slim fingers absentmindedly as the committee argued back and forth about some such silliness. Really, there was no reason to have convened them at all, he already knew, of course, the actions he would take. But committees gave decisions such a homey feel and people liked that so much. He had to admit to its usefulness when things failed, as they did from time to time. Godlike as he was, things happened.

So he kept both ears keyed into their mindless chattering, but both eyes strictly on Robbie through the plate-glass walls that separated the board room from his ante room.

Robbie was new. He was overjoyed to have found Robbie.

Really, the man was more than half the reason he had accelerated the rate of Rory's demise. On that note, he should make a note to get flowers sent to the hospital for her. He wondered if she'd been released from the psych ward yet, and which words attached to a bouquet could put her back there.

He smiled despite himself, jotted a note to himself on the pad in front of him, and went back to staring at his newest assistant.

From behind the resemblance was innocuous. Both men were small and slim, but so were more than half the men their age; that wasn't telling. The hair bore a passing resemblance, although Robbie kept his shorter, and his dark-brown locks were perhaps straighter on account of that. His hair was always kept to precision standards, another telling difference between the two men: Robbie was much more serious, less playful, less flippant in ways. Would he ever meet another? Another like _him_? So fun to play with and destroy?

Optimist though he was, he didn't think so. Hadn't he been playing and destroying for the past ten years? And he hadn't enjoyed a single one of them the way he had enjoyed that: his _first_.

He swallowed and shivered at the thought, the thought of how good it had been.

"Everything all right?" the woman at this elbow questioned, looking at him nervously.

Janet, trying yet again to get into his good graces. He loathed it when his playthings kept coming back for more: it was such a bore. He had beaten her once, then beaten her again, and it hadn't been a whit more exciting the second time around. Not a challenge at all, certainly: the woman had rolled over like an animal exposing its belly at the slightest hint of a fight both times.

He allowed himself to yawn at her and she turned away, blushing.

"Sir," came Robbie's sweet, serious voice. He looked up smiling to see the silent man already at his shoulder.

And there they were, the very things that had led him in the first place to sweeping this man away from his day job at the Tallis Nursery: those eyes, those startling blue eyes. Just as blue, j _ust exactly the exact shade of blue_. That was coincidence aplenty, certainly enough to garner his attention if not his involvement. But then his mouth--and it was the _same_ mouth, deeply rosy, so sensuous. He shivered again just looking at it. He wondered if that mouth had ever been on another man before, and how hard he would have to manipulate to get it on one. Not one, not just anyone, but he, himself. It had to be him, not because it would make his mission any more successful but for more personal reasons.

"Yes, Turner?" he said pleasantly, interrupting that old man on the end he always pretended to not know the name of.

The young man eyed him warily, as had been his custom of late now that he had started his work on the boy.

"A call for you, sir," he said quietly, passing a slip of memo paper.

The pen was set aside and his slim fingers folded the paper back and read Robbie's script dispassionately. The handwriting was another aggravating difference: forceful and linear instead of rushed and loose.

_Susan Storm_

He grinned, pleased to note that it made Robbie wince slightly beside him.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said regretfully. "I'm afraid I must take this. Please, continue without me."

Standing, he brushed straight the creases of his forest-green suit and started for the door, Robbie dutiful but reserved behind him. The man followed him as far as the anteroom but then sat at the desk, leaving him to enter his office alone. Just as well, he supposed.

He answered his phone and tried to sound more pleased than gleeful. He succeeded, of course--he was always good at sounding exactly how he wished to sound.

"Susan, darling!" he cheered good-naturedly over the line, mentally damning the bitch for taking so long to get back to him. It had been weeks since the conference, after all.

"Hullo hullo!" she trilled back to him. "Who was that on the line, before? Where's Rory gone to?"

He smiled but made his voice saddened.

"Oh, Susan, you haven't talked to me in so long-you've no idea what's been going on here. Rory had an absolute break--down, terrified me out of my mind!" he lied. "The poor girl's in the hospital as we speak. If only I hadn't..."

Susan gasped and rushed to his aid exactly as he had primed her to, through all their months of intimate friendship. "Oh, dear! You can't blame yourself--you ask a lot from your employees but you never give them more than they can handle. Rory's always been a hysterical girl."

Susan had never met Rory, and he disparaged her intimation that his work had been a simple task of driving a hysterical girl to hysterics. His task had been so much more demanding than that. No one ever gave him proper credit for these things, no one but his brother, and the other man never did it with proper reverence.

"Enough about me, Suzie," he sighed. "How was the seminar in Metropolis?"

"Simply wonderful," the young woman sighed happily. "Thank you again for pulling those strings of yours--it really was an awful oversight that Reed wasn't asked to chair the thing in the first place."

"I completely agree," he lied, giving a silent yawn she wouldn't hear. Small talk was necessary, certainly, but did it have to be such a bore? "I only hope the good professor still managed some time with his fiance?"

"He did," the woman in question giggled back. "We went out to dinner Sunday night with some other professors from the seminar. I have to admit, it was great to be introduced as the future Mrs. Doctor Reed Richards!" But then her voice went from ecstatic to bitter. "Although I haven't told you the best of it: do you remember that Biology professor I told you about way back?"

He grinned widely, rubbed his palm against the thigh of his expensive suit with joy.

"Hmm, it sounds sort of familiar. He was some student of Reed's? Or was it a colleague?"

Susan hummed aggravatedly. "No, no, I told you--that upstart that seduced Reed way back when--that rotten Charles Xavier!"

He thrilled, hearing that name again, about stretched his back like a pleased cat.

"Oh yes--the man who turned Reed gay for a full year."

Susan's voice was pouting. "Not a full year," she mumbled. "And anyway, Reed says he's all done with that funny business." _I'm sure he does._ "But that's not the point: the point is: Xavier absolutely refused to come to the dinner! Flat out refused! And after what he did to Reed! I haven't even gotten to the worst of it! Reed's black eye has only just now faded completely!"

He coughed and jerked up in his chair. That couldn't be, that was not in line, that was not a facet of Charles, and he knew _every_ facet of Charles.

"Susan, you are not telling me that Charles Xavier punched Reed in the face," he growled, because there was simply no way he was wrong enough about Charles for that to be true. There was no way the man had changed that much in the last ten years without him finding out about it.

"No," the woman sighed with exasperation and he slumped back in his seat with relief. He hadn't been wrong: he still knew Charles, the man hadn't changed. "But he might as well have: it was his boyfriend, after all, and Xavier did absolutely nothing to stop it."

He stared blankly, and then glanced at the phone as if willing for it to be another misunderstanding, and then glared at his contact book. Someone had a lot of explaining to do. This should not be the first he was hearing of a new boyfriend.

Susan wouldn't have anything to add on this though, so he kept to what she could tell him.

"Woah woah woah," he laughed. "Start at the beginning: Xavier brought his boyfriend to the convention and let the guy punch Reed?"

"Well I only know what Reed has told me about it, and that's little enough, but I'll tell you, sure enough!"

Susan told him the story, and story was certainly what it was, fanciful as it seemed. It was easy to separate fact from fiction knowing that the story came from Reed and knowing what the man was like and knowing what he was likely to embellish and what to leave out entirely.

There was a slight misunderstanding between Reed and a boyfriend Reed certainly remembered the name of but Susan didn't, which meant that Reed had embarrassed himself incredibly regarding the man. Said man had overreacted, meaning that the boyfriend had reacted viscerally to something antagonistic Reed had said or done. Then the man had waited until Reed was distracted and attacked him, hitting him full in the face while he wasn't looking. This was unlikely, but he didn't care. Reed had returned fire, getting in quite a good few licks before Charles intervened to protect the rapscallian. He smiled: that was his Charles all over. Reed certainly hadn't embellished anything there, besides the idea of Reed returning anything but a scathing remark, if he could manage that after a blow to anywhere, and that was mightily doubtful.

"Oh dear," he sighed sympathetically when Susan was spent. "And after all that you didn't get to meet the young upstart at all! Well, I'm sure it's all happened for a reason. Really, Susan, I tried to tell you that nothing good could come of you being so interested in your flame's old flame." He smiled at his own advice, hypocritical as it was since he was so interested in his old flame's new flame.

Susan sighed. "Yes, well, you were right. Thanks for being a good friend and letting me have my way, though."

"I hope that Reed is feeling better. But I should get back to work now. It was lovely hearing from you."

"Oh gosh, I hope I didn't interrupt anything important. I just wanted to say thanks and all for getting Reed onto the science chair or whatever. I'll let you get back to work."

"Goodbye, Susan."

"Bye, Tom."

He hung up and grabbed at his contacts book automatically, refusing to let this go through Robbie.

"Vision, darling," he growled into the line when the other man picked up. The guy sounded the same as always, absolutely robotic.

"Loki," he intoned. The man didn't know his real name, and he wanted to keep it that way. "I suppose you're calling about the Professor."

"I am," he said into the phone, refusing to snap as he so wished. Sometimes you had to do what was smart instead of what you wanted. And it would be smarter to keep his real emotions strictly out of this. "I was talking to an old friend and she had some interesting things to say: namely that the little professor has a new little toy."

Vision, the only name he was supposed to know the other man by, was silent on the other line for a long time, until Tom formed a question.

"So, Vision, my question is this: why am I hearing this from someone I am _not_ paying to keep tabs on Charles Xavier instead of the one man I _am_ paying to keep tabs on him?"

"I explained all this to Rory," Vision sighed.

Tom grimaced to himself and slammed his hand silently on the padded arm of his chair. "You were prohibited from talking about this with anyone," he laid out patiently. "So this argument does not exactly help you."

"You were unavailable," the robotic man said, managing some emotion into his voice and that emotion was anxiety. "And anyway, I didn't want you to try and talk me out of it."

"Out of what, pray tell?"

"Listen, I'm not doing that sort of stuff anymore..." Vision muttered, and Tom immediately knew what was going on.

"When did you talk to Chris?" he sighed.

"If you know that then you know that I'm not going to change my mind."

Tom did know that, and so he didn't bother wasting his time. He hung up and seethed.

You just couldn't leave this kind of long-term, sinister work to amateurs. There was simply too much time involved in which to grow a conscience.

Some deep breathing, some calming thoughts: Rory was in the hospital having a mental breakdown because of him; Wesley was in jail by now, probably, and for suspected murder at that--how many people could say they'd gotten a man arrested for suspected patricide? That was certainly something. It certainly made up for his surveillance guru being thwarted, he was sure.

And above all that on his extensive C.V. reigned Charles.

Tom smiled widely. He didn't think there had been anything better than lighting that man on fire from the inside out, first with the star-bright light of first love, and then with the forest-fire horror of first heart-break. It was all more than delicious: it was the stuff of legends. Had anyone since cried so wretchedly, stared at him so imploringly, been wrecked so completely?

He had brought others to their lowest lows, but they never seemed to feel it so very keenly as Charles had, even when they felt it to the utmost of their abilities.

The man simply had more intensity of emotion than anyone else that Tom had met before or since. His range ran further than normal people's. His happiness was head and shoulders above where others’ could manage to scale, and his lows left all fore-runners pitifully in the dust.

Tom sighed to himself happily, brought back to a more chipper mood by his reveries.

So what if his brother had thwarted his surveillance? He had the information he wanted. Charles had found someone new. Should this prove note-worthy, unlike Reed or Steven, then life would suddenly be much more fun for him. He could move on from the two-bit destructions he was enacting and go back to something much more fulfilling, back to the most fulfilling destruction of his life.

No one could lose everything the way that Charles lost everything, and Tom was thoroughly despairing at ever finding someone who could. But what was the alternative? Only to go back and destroy Charles all over again, and could you ever destroy something as thoroughly the second time around as the first? Experience had shown him that he could. The problem was that the reconstructions never seemed to span so high as the first edifices. And that made for so much sadder of a razing, no matter how extensive a destruction he made it. Even if you destroyed something just as completely as the first time, did it matter if there was less there to destroy?

But that was a normal person. They were incapable of building as high the second time as they had the first. Their weak hearts couldn't allow it. Charles was not a normal person. His heart could allow for anything. His second edifice, Tom was sure, would be just as awe-inspiring as the first, and would burn just as prettily.

It was just hard to gauge when construction would be completed. That was where Vision was supposed to come in: keep an eye on Charles through all these boring times until the man was fresh and ready to be culled all over again.

Tom smiled anxiously. Had that time finally come? Was that what this new boyfriend heralded? He had gotten his hopes up before, with Harvey, when Charles had gotten his professorship, when his new research study had revolutionized the field. Vision had informed him on each case and Tom had wavered for days trying to decide if it was a sign of Charles' completion or simply a step up, wavered so intensely that he had even made that annoying trek all the way out there just to discover that Harvey was not actually the important milestone he had been awaiting so impatiently. How to decide when he had reached his full potential and was thus ready to be brought back to his lowest point?

He sighed, and while he was deep in thought Robbie came back inside.

"The committee's reached its decision, Mr. Laufeyson," he said in that professional, distant voice of his from Tom's shoulder.

Tom turned and smiled up at him sweetly.

"Robbie," he sighed, touching the man on his bare arm.

Those perfect blue went wide and uncomfortable, but he wasn't certain enough to pull his arm away.

"You should wear long-sleeved shirts at the office, please, Robbie," he said innocently. The man's cheeks rushed red with embarrassment, and even that was somehow identical to Charles and made Tom smile all the wider.

"Yessir," he mumbled with mortification and slipped away in his humiliation.

Tom twirled in his chair happily and leapt up with happy excitement.

He'd take Robbie apart piece by piece and burn him down one part at a time, and when that was done he'd check up on Charles himself and see what sort of progress he and this boyfriend of his had made. Then he'd know for sure it if was time to light that match anew or if yet _more_ waiting was necessary.


End file.
